Jones Paranormal Investigation Agency
by Feux Follets
Summary: AU. A candle-lit dinner with fresh roses on the side under moon light was the last thing Matthew had expected coming onto a trip meant for paranormal investigations. Francis/Matthew; Alfred/Arthur; Ivan/Yao; Warning: mild violence & creepy exorcisms.
1. Meeting the Team

**EDIT**-**May 2010:** There seem to be some problems with the line-dividers that were previously used to separate parts within a chapter – they appear to be absent. Please excuse any inconvenience in reading due to their absences; this problem is currently being fixed. Thank you, and enjoy reading. : )

-8888-

**Author's Notes:** This story is actually based on a dream I had after re-watching _Ghost Hunt_. I dreamt that the Hetalia folks were running around doing random ghost-hunting things and thought it'd be fun to write it down, so here it is!

This is my first fan-fiction, and meant for fun, so please be gentle and don't take this too seriously, as in, I'm not too concerned and do not check for grammar errors and whatnot too carefully.

All magic, spells, rituals, and blah are entirely made up by me with close to no research because I'm kind of lazy (more like very much actually) and don't have time to look everything up unfortunately. Really sorry about that! But I promise I'll try my best to have everything making sense. =)

Matthew is from Vancouver because not all Canadians are from Ottawa…XD

I do not speak French, or Russian, or any other European languages that might make it into this story. I studied French _a little_, but stopped taking it as soon as I didn't have to (which I kind of regret now actually…), so I had to use translators. I'll try to use my very limited knowledge of French to make sure the sentences make sense, but if something's off, please let me know!

There will be some _very minor changes_ to the way the characters interact with each other simply to keep it realistic (not that any of the supernatural things happen in real life…I think), such as: Francis won't be sexually harassing everyone because he'd end up in jail; Alfred will not despise Ivan because he's Russian; and etc.

I think that's all I have to say. Thank you very much for checking my story out, and enjoy! =D

**Disclaimer:** I do _not_ own Hetalia; however I _do_ own any random magical things and characters I make up for this story that you do not see in the actual series.

_Italics: _Dream sequence; thoughts; other Languages.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

"…_I hate you…_

"…_I hate you! You killed Mommy!_

"_I hate you!"_

_He ran, hair and tears flying in the wind. His small feet splattered into puddles; dirty water drenched his shoes._

"_Matthew! Wait!" A desperate, despaired voice called after him._

_But he ran, resentment coursing through his tiny, thin body, spreading in his veins as if an addictive poison._

_A blasting chorus of truck horns shrieked._

_**SCHREEEEEECH!**_

_Tires burned against the rough cement as the driver slammed down on the brakes._

_But it was too late._

_A ripping sound of flesh against metal._

_He abruptly stopped in his steps._

_Blood soaked through his socks where it hit them._

_He turned around._

_Red spread through rainwater._

"…_Papa…?"_

He gasped, eyes flying open.

Pale ceiling met his blurred vision, but he could still see _it_.

_Blood…so much blood…and the mangled body of his Papa…_

A tear fell.

All was silent.

He jumped as loud knocks suddenly hammered against his door.

_Well, it wasn't really hammered…_

But it was as if thunder splitting through the silence.

More knocks followed, and he was just about to get up when a voice rang through the door, muffled but clear.

"…Matthew? I'm coming in."

The door creaked open a little, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He squinted his eyes; he could only make out vague shapes of messy blond hair, sharp green eyes, and prominent eyebrows furrowed in what he guessed to be concern.

"Matthew? Are you alright?" The voice held a thick accent, but was distinct and crisp in pronunciation, making it relatively easy to decipher.

"Y-Yeah…" He winced at how shaken he sounded and gave a weak laugh, "…Yeah, I'm fine…I think."

"…You had that dream again, didn't you…?" It was more of a confirmation than a question, so he didn't reply.

"Come to think of it," the accented voice continued in a musing tone, "We haven't seen each other since—…well…" The blurry figure shifted on his feet in what he assumed was a sheepish manner and cleared his throat stiffly; "I just came to see if you were awake; I'm making breakfast."

"E-Eh?" That immediately caught his attention; "Arthur! I'm the host! I should at least…you just got off the plane from London last night! You-You shouldn't trouble yourself—" He tried to get out of bed but couldn't pull his legs out from the tangled bed sheets.

"No; no, don't stress." Arthur chuckled; "No need for such unfamiliarity; we're cousins, after all."

"…Arthur…" Warmth and affection bloomed in his heart, "…Thank you." His blue eyes beamed at the man standing by the door, though it was a little unfocused.

Arthur looked a little red and embarrassed; "…Errm…right, so don't worry about it…I'll see you downstairs." With that, he left and closed the door behind him.

Matthew watched the spot where Arthur was just moments ago, and sighed. Fumbling around, he was finally able to pull his legs out from where they were tangled. Propping his glasses on, the world immediately became clear. Stretching his limbs, he walked barefoot on carpeted floor towards the bathroom.

Snapping on the light, a tired, but generally happy young man looked back at him with dark blue eyes. His hair was messy and sticking out more than not. He brushed through it, silky, soft waves forming under his fingers, though a strand stubbornly stuck out and formed a loop dangling close to his face. Nature called, and he answered. Washing his hands, he stifled a yawn.

_I'll shower after I eat…_

Scratching the back of his head, he decided not to change out of his sleeping shirt, and looked around for his pajamas pants. Kicking them on, he walked downstairs, and spotted Arthur already reading the morning newspaper with food set out on the table.

The Brit sipped on a cup of tea as Matthew quickly trotted towards him. At the corners of his eyes he saw the younger man skid to a stop in front of what was supposed to be a healthy breakfast.

Matthew slowly pulled a chair back and sat down on it. Staring at the odd, unrecognizable black blob, he carefully picked up a fork and poked at it.

It was spongy.

"…Um…"

"…I-I kind of burnt the eggs…sorry…" Arthur's face was blocked by the newspaper, but Matthew could _hear_ his cheeks flushing red.

"…Yeah…" He gave a small laugh good-naturedly, "…kind of, eh?"

The newspaper was flung down; Arthur's face held a storm as one of his bushy eyebrows jerked in annoyance.

…_I guess food is another sensitive subject…_

"Stop complaining and eat! You still have packing left to do, don't you? Our plane's this afternoon in case you've forgotten." The accent made his tone sound even scarier, if that was possible with the Londoner wearing a look of strict aggravation glowering at the one opposite of him.

Matthew shrank into his seat and looked down right away to avoid the displeased glare; "O-Of…Of course…" he managed to squeak out.

There was a moment of silence as neither of the two moved.

Looking at his intimidated cousin sinking into his chair, Arthur sighed. His tense muscles relaxed from rigid posture as he rubbed his eyes with a hand.

"…I'm sorry, Matthew. I'm always cranky in the morning, but I shouldn't have yelled."

"No I—it's alright, Arthur." Matthew picked up his fork once again and ate a little of the eggs. Trying not to make a face and wondering how Arthur could achieve sogginess from burning, he bit on his lips, and met the slightly older male's eyes.

"I should properly thank you sometimes for doing all of this for me." He gave the English man a bright smile.

Arthur smiled back, and Matthew knew he understood that he didn't just mean the (quite questionable-looking) breakfast.

…_Arthur came all the way from England just so we can head to New York together, even though it'd be much easier for him to just join up once we're there. _He ate more eggs and reached for the toast. _I wonder what I can do to say proper thanks…_

A family friend had asked Arthur's father for help: to watch over his nephew who's apparently headstrong and a little careless. And, owing that friend a favour, Arthur came in his father's place to North America.

The green-eyed one had gone back to reading the newspaper and sipping on his tea. Matthew stole glances, but did not speak out his worry regarding the subject. He was not very sure what to expect, so he was a bit nervous. However, at the same time, he was unquestionably excited.

~o0o0o~

A day later, Matthew sat in a taxi, watching buildings almost reaching the sky pass by through the window. The amount of people walking the streets was quite a feat to the Canadian, who never saw this many people regularly walking around anywhere.

_Trees perhaps…but not people._

…_not that trees walked in Vancouver…_he nibbled on his lips, a little embarrassed at the self-conversation.

Turning his attention away, he addressed the primly-dressed man sitting beside him.

"Just out of curiosity, where exactly are we going, eh?"

"I'm not too sure. I was only given an address." Arthur murmured, eyes glued to the book he was reading.

"Ehh? You don't know Mr. Jones' nephew?" Matthew's eyes grew round as he exclaimed.

"Not personally." The older man threw a look of slight disapproval at the younger one for the suddenly loud tone, but didn't say anything else.

Mumbling an apology, the blue-eyed one went back to sightseeing.

The rest of the taxi-trip was in contemplative silence.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk and waiting as Arthur paid the taxi-driver, Matthew looked up at the tall, glassy building. Of all the places he thought would be their destination, this had not been it. Personally he expected a dark, spooky house.

After all, it was an organization meant for the supernatural.

_A dark, spooky house was probably too obvious and cliché._ He thought as he followed Arthur into the building.

Stepping out of the elevator onto the tenth floor, he watched with mild interest as the British man looked back and forth between their surroundings and a little slip of paper he held in his hand. He muttered something Matthew didn't quite catch, and went to the right.

Turning a corner, they met a door with an etched glass window. On it read "_Jones Paranormal Investigation Agency_" in fancy calligraphy.

Arthur lifted an eyebrow and scoffed, but did not make further comments.

"This seems to be the right place…" He murmured, and knocked on the door quickly.

No one answered.

"…Maybe we're supposed to just go in?" Matthew offered.

Shrugging, Arthur turned the door knob and gave a push.

The door swung open easily; the Londoner took one step into the office and instantly stopped.

Matthew, curious, poked his head in.

The two froze and, eyes wide and circular, stared at the rather impressive sight in front of them.

In the large office space, there was a reception area, and, deeper into the rectangular room, there were comfortable-looking sofas for what looked to be for inquiry purposes, and potted-plants. A hall on the right side of the room lead to what were probably more rooms used as private offices.

Nothing was strange about that, if it weren't for the huge number of half-transparent shapes and shadows wandering around.

Some wore what Matthew guessed were clothing of an ancient Asian origin; some faded in and out too swiftly for him to make out if they wore clothes at all.

Snapping out of the surprise of seeing so many spirits all at once in an enclosed space this size, Arthur held out a hand and nudged his cousin back a little.

"Matthew, get back." He ordered with a firm voice, eyes narrowing. A hazy aura began to shift around him as his hair started to wave as if blown by a breeze.

"Eh-Ehhh?" Matthew tilted his face, jolting a little; "Arthur! What are you planning to—"

"AAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" A loud scream cut through his sentence and both men jumped; "ALFRED! I TOLD YOU NOT TO OPEN THAT URN, ARU! WHY DON'T YOU EVER LISTEN TO ME?"

Arthur and Matthew, who still had a hand on top of where approximately his heart was located, swirled around, and saw a slender Asian man standing behind them with eyes large and mouth hanging open out of shock, holding bags of grocery with green onions sticking out of one of them.

Just as Arthur was about to ask who the newcomer was screaming at, a voice sounded from inside the room.

"…Uhh…ahahahaha…" The two blondes watched in amazement as another blond head appeared from under the reception desk, "…sorry Yao…hahaha…"

~o0o0o~

Fifteen minutes later, Yao, the Asian man who was confirmed as being Chinese by his name, managed to herd the spirits back into an intricately inked ceramic urn, scolding the blond head that was poking out from under the reception desk. The blond head turned out to be Jones, the nephew Arthur and Matthew were looking for.

After a brief introduction ("Well, hello! I'm Alfred, the founder of this agency in the name of justice!"), the three sat down on the sofas, with the grinning American opposite of the Canadian and the Brit.

"So, Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Williams, since my uncle recommended you I know you gotta be good, but what do you guys do exactly?" Alfred's topaz-blue eyes sparkled, whether intentionally or not no one could be sure. He was undoubtedly handsome, and had a boyish charm about him that seemed to exude out of him in waves and waves of sunshine and optimistic energy. His golden hair was slightly messy, no doubt from hiding under the desk, with an odd strand sticking upwards defiantly.

Noticing that Matthew was nervous and did not look like he fancied going first, Arthur cleared his throat and began in a respectable, even tone of voice:

"Well, I am profoundly trained in witchcraft and extremely knowledgeable when it comes to the supernatural and the occult, not to mention I've already had years of experience working with my family all over Europe, investigating cases and—"

"-they have razors for those you know…" Alfred suddenly cut in.

Arthur blinked, taken back and unsure how to answer. "I…I beg your pardon?"

It took a few seconds for the British man to realize that the American was staring avidly at his eyebrows.

"Just…in case you didn't know about that…" Alfred gave a sloppy grin, happy about offering useful advice.

Arthur's face immediately took the most horrible shade of red as steam seemed to be bursting out of his ears as he bristled.

"How-How _dare _you?"

"So, you're a wizard?" Alfred cut in, looking genuinely unaware of how much the British man opposite of him fumed; "Do all wizards have thick eyebrows? …Wait…you're British, aren't you! _Are you from Hogwarts?_" It was fascinating how animated the young Jones' facial expressions had become.

"Can you fly on brooms?" He continued to press on, completely oblivious at the darkening colours on Arthur's face and how frightened for him Matthew had become, "…Can you teach me? I've always wanted to fly—"

"**Enough!**" Arthur's voice boomed out as he shot up from his seat, swinging an angry hand in wild gestures towards his interviewer; "Are you a professional or not? You've been asking nothing but stupid and ridiculous questions!"

In the background, Yao shook his head and muttered about westerners and their temper.

Alfred blinked, and had the nerve to frown in confusion.

Spluttering in incredulous anger, Arthur reached down and grabbed onto his cousin's arm. "Come on, Matthew, we're getting out of here!" He stomped towards the door with the Canadian yelping in slight pain behind him.

Turning around for one last glare at Alfred, who remained seated, Arthur threw the door open and scowled at the confused man. "This idiot's been nothing but rude and offensive to our profession. For all we know he could be a bloody **scammer**!" Shouting the last word, he swung his head around for a dramatic exit, but crashed face first into a hard chest of a tall form instead.

Seeing stars and rubbing his nose, he looked up, and froze.

A broad-shouldered man towering above him glanced down, head tilting to the side in a childlike manner as his violet eyes shimmered with wonder. A small, shy smile tugged his lips upward, but, for some reasons, Arthur found such an expression extremely unnerving.

"Scammer?" The tall man asked, his voice quite soft for his size as his smile grew a bit wider and curious. His thick, long scarf shifted a little around his shoulders.

"Oh, hello Ivan." Alfred gave a half wave at the tall man, who nodded a little in reply.

Arthur seemed unable to take his eyes off of Ivan, who continued looking friendly. Thinking it was a good time to intervene, Matthew nudged the one still clutching his arm.

"Arthur…Mr. Jones can't be a scammer, eh? His uncle is a very well-respected man, and you've seen all the spirits that were here before Yao put them back into the urn. Let's give him a chance, eh?"

At first Arthur did not reply, and merely pressed his lips together. But after a while of thought, he stiffly nodded.

"…Fine…he obviously doesn't know what he's doing though. He's still an idiot…"

"You think so too!" The tall man actually held up his large hands and clapped, his expression beaming of delight; "We have something in common, comrade! We will be good friends, da~?"

At the sugar-laced tone, Arthur did not know how to respond and simply stared.

"It's not really something in common, aru…_Everyone_ knows Alfred is an idiot, aru…" Yao answered.

"Hey!" Alfred stood up from his place on the sofa, hands on his hips, "I can hear you, you know!"

Deciding the agency still had _some_ hope in the future, since only one of its members so far was intellectually challenged, Arthur forced his eyes away from Ivan's smiling face, and slowly walked back towards the sofas.

~o0o0o~

_Of all the things I was expecting I did not expect an interview, being recommended and all…_Matthew pulled on his sleeves.

He was outside in the hallway, leaning against the wall while Arthur was inside finishing up with the rest of his interview.

"…Ooooh, this is making me nervous…" He mumbled to himself, brushing a hand through his hair, not noticing the elevator's ding or its doors humming open.

"I wonder if I'm underdressed…" He looked down at himself, pulling at his shirt and wondering if he should leave his hoodie on or not.

With his eyes fixated on all the faults in his outfit, he did not notice an approaching figure until it was right in front of him.

Footsteps halted, and Matthew was suddenly painfully aware of a pair of eyes looking at him.

"-Ehh?" He tilted his face up, and met clear, ocean-blue eyes.

A well-dressed man stood in front of him. He was taller than Matthew, but not large-boned or ceiling-scraping as Ivan. He had dazzling blond hair warm and bright like the sun, styled in nice waves curling around his face, reaching just above his shoulders. He had a clean, clear-cut face with an aristocratic nose and deep, alluring eyes. Light stubble adorned his chin; his lips were pulled back into a smile mildly flirtatious, but mostly inquisitive.

He looked as if he'd just walked out of a fashion magazine.

Matthew was very aware that he was staring and probably looked pretty dumb, but, as hard as he tried, he could not form coherent words.

They stood not too far apart, watching each other with attentive interest.

Something clicked inside the Canadian's head, and he suddenly found something to say.

"Erm…H-Hello…" He said lamely, a hand rising in a weak wave.

However, the fashionable one seemed extremely pleased, and eagerly replied, "_Bonjour!_"

Matthew blinked in surprise; the little he learnt of French kicking in before he could stop it.

"_B-Bonjour…_"

His surprise was reciprocated as the clear, ocean-blue eyes widened and the taller man exclaimed: "_Parlez-vous francais?_" He didn't expect a French greeting back, and looked quite hopeful.

Matthew felt light-headed. With shivering stutters, he answered; "Ehh.._Un peu…_"

"_Oh magnifique!_" The taller man leaned forward, eyes dancing like candle-flames and grin almost wicked; "_Je dois vous inviter à dîner un de ces jours! Je ne connais pas beaucoup de personnes qui le parlent!_"

The train of French flew right over his head. _…Je…vous…dinner-what? _"…Eh-Ehhh?"

A moment of silence couldn't be any more awkward than what faced poor, troubled Matthew as his company waited patiently and expectantly for an answer, mistaking his "eh" for surprise.

After many tick-tocks of a nearby clock, the handsome stranger spoke again.

"_Hmmm…Que faites-vous ici?_"

Luckily Matthew managed to figure out that question was after a few moments, but he quickly became even more flustered since he had no clue as to how to answer. "U-Um…" He blinked, hoping the Frenchman could somehow read his mind, "_Je…Je…_ehhhh…_avec_…erm…_avec mon cousin Arthur…regarder(?) m-monsieur Jones_…?"

The Frenchman blinked, eyebrows rising. "…_**Regarder**__ monsieur Jones?_"

If there were a hole, Matthew would've gladly dived into it. Feeling his cheeks flaming into a dark blush, he felt as though he could've died from embarrassment. "…Ah-Ahhh I-I said something strange didn't I?" He avoided the clear, ocean-blue eyes, squirming on his feet.

"Oh." The Frenchman suddenly laughed; it was a pleasant, soothing sound. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have assumed you knew what I was rambling on about. Though…you were so adorably flustered I should definitely speak to you in French more often!"

If there were even a _crack_ in the wall or on the ground, Matthew would've gladly dived into it.

"Oh dear, where are my manners!" The charming stranger held out a hand gloved in soft leather; "I am Francis Bonnefoy. It is a pleasure to meet you!"

Matthew stared, eyes almost tearing from the dazzling radiance that seemed to accompany the Frenchman. But _by God_ he could not look away…

"Hmm? …Oh!" Francis obviously mistook his staring for something else. "You must excuse this…ahhh…_minor inconvenience_." He gave a kind, apologetic smile to the shy young man in front of him as he waved his gloved hand; "I understand that some consider this as impolite, but I'm afraid there isn't much I can do about _this_ in particular." He paused slightly; "I do not wish to offend your privacy."

This struck Matthew as odd, and he blinked out of his enamoured stupor.

"Huh?" Was all he managed to say before Yao poked his head out from behind the door to the agency and called out to him:

"Mr. Matthew Williams, can you come in please, aru?"

"Uhhmm, y-yes, of course—" He gave a respectful smile to Yao, who smiled back and disappeared behind the door once more, but not without a few curious glances at Francis with an unreadable expression. Unable to decipher what that meant, Matthew simply ignored it and turned back to the hand still extended towards him. He reached out and shook it; the leather was warm against his bare skin. "It's very nice to meet you too, Mr. Bonnefoy! I'm Matthew." He gave Francis' hand a light shake and tried to take it back, but, he found, the Frenchman had a firm hold.

"Matthieu…" Blue met blue, one captivating the other. "…A pleasure indeed…" The smooth voice lowered into a husky timber; Matthew swallowed.

"…_M-Merci_…" He squeaked out.

Francis seemed very much satisfied with the younger man's reactions, and, still holding the slender hand with his gloved one, he casually draped the other arm around the Canadian's shoulders. Pretending to not notice how Matthieu tensed and took in a small breath, cheeks still stained crimson, he led the way to the agency.

"Come; we must not have them wait."

Matthew could only nod as he allowed himself to be guided to the door, and prayed that his voice would work better during the interview.

Francis was close; his hands were warm. Sometimes he leaned in close enough for Matthew to feel his breaths tickling his ear.

He didn't know how to think, so he didn't.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

(I don't need to translate "bonjour" right...)

_Parlez-vous francais? – _You speak French?

_Un peu_ – A little

_Oh magnifique! Je dois vous inviter à dîner un de ces jours! Je ne connais pas beaucoup de personnes qui le parlent!_ – Oh wonderful! I must treat you to dinner sometimes! I do not know many people who speak it! (Leave it to Francis to use this as an excuse to ask someone out to dinner XD)

_Que faites-vous ici? _– What are you doing here?

_Je…Je…_ehhhh…_avec_…erm…_avec mon cousin Arthur…regarder(?) m-monsieur Jones_…? – I…I…ehhhh…with…erm…with my cousin Arthur…look at(?) Mr. Jones…? (Matthew used the wrong word here, or at least I _think_ it's the wrong word. It's supposed to be the wrong word anyhow XD)

…_**Regarder**__ monsieur Jones?_ – …**Look at** Mr. Jones?

…_M-Merci_…– …Th-Thank you…

**Ending Note:** Well, this is it for now. Thanks for reading, and please drop me a line and let me know what you think! There will be more creepy adventures and developing relationships later when the cases come.

_Edit:_ Big thanks to _NinjaMatty_ and _lolipop dictator_ for correcting my French! =)


	2. CASE1: Hedgewood Hotel, Part 1

**Author's Notes:** In case anyone is wondering, Kumajirou _will_ be making his way into the story, but not till a while later.

I actually didn't plan on posting this till a little later to have more, starting from the beginning, regularly scheduled updates, like every Friday or something, but I guess I'll see how things go first. =)

Rating will go up to M later on due to profanity and violence, and _maybe_…you know…fumbling around on the bed, or in the car, or on the table…or behind the shrubs in your backyard—No.

XD

Ehhh…Don't really have anything else to say except:

_**Thank you to everyone who reviewed, subscribed, favourited, checked out my story and so on!**_

…And please continue to be picky over my online-translator-translated European languages. ;)

Oh, and also, any resemblance to persons living or dead, as well as whatever else I make up(such as place names and etc.), is _purely coincidental._

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Case 1: Hedgewood Hotel**

The woman sitting on the sofa opposite of Alfred was thin and stiff. She was a fading brunette with light lines emphasizing her troubled, frowning expression. Her eyes were alive, shiny, and flickered back and forth between Jones and his team mates at a speed almost dizzying.

She did not touch her tea, which cooled. Her bony fingers were wrapped around her small purse tightly; fingertips rubbing in a nervous manner at the dull rubies lining the small bag. She wore a black feminine suit with a pencil skirt.

She was quite pretty, had she not worn such a dark shadow over her pale face.

Alfred hummed, looking over his notes he'd made so far; "So, Mrs. Moore, can you please tell me more of the most recent incident at your hotel?"

"Yes, of course." The woman sniffed, "My husband and I, after so many tenants disappeared, thought it would be best to contact someone, well, more suitable for the situation; we contacted a local medium, who tried to do a cleansing of our hotel. Honestly speaking I'm not sure if he actually _could_ do anything…well, we were told to clear all the rooms, dismiss the employees, and leave for the night. Before we left, he said something about how most of the spirits around the area seemed to be drawn towards one room, or, rather, a painting hung up in it." She glanced around at her audience; "It's not as impressive as it sounds. We already knew everything that went on at our hotel had something to do with that painting. After all, everyone who disappeared ended up in it…"

"So what happened to that medium?" Alfred asked, looking almost uncharacteristically serious and deep in thought.

"When we came back the next morning, he was nowhere to be found. When we checked that room, naturally, he was in the painting, and the lady in red, once again, was turned and glaring out of the picture." The woman's expression darkened, and, reaching with a shaky hand, she took the cup of cold tea and chucked it down.

Silence was her reply as everyone looked at each other.

"Have you always had that painting or did it come with the hotel when you purchased it?" Alfred questioned on.

"We've always had it; it was a wedding gift from my sister-in-law. We never had problems until we bought the hotel and moved into it. When it first happened—…the painting…eating people, I mean, we assumed maybe the patron had just left. But soon everyone who stayed in that room all disappeared. The police was clueless, which is why we…well…" She faded off, biting her lips.

Arthur, sitting beside Alfred, frowned; "What about their belongings? Of the victims, I mean to say."

"They disappeared as well. It was as if they had never been—" She shook her head, looking down.

Matthew remained silent throughout the inquiry, sitting at the reception desk. In truth, he was frightened. The woman brought with her a feeling of dread and suppressed terror that took an immediate effect on him.

"We'll take your case." Alfred stated, nodding firmly.

The woman looked up, surprised. "You…You would? Even after what happened to the last medium we hired?"

Alfred gave a dismissive wave and grinned confidently. "We are the best in the country, ma'am! You're in luck!"

Arthur sent an annoyed look at the American and muttered under his breath ("…insolent buffoon…don't even know what we're up against yet…").

"Oh, thank you! Thank you very much!" The woman smiled, relieved and reassured.

"No problem," Alfred stood up, extending his hand, "We'll head over as soon as we can; we just need to pack all the equipments."

Mrs. Moore's smile grew, and, right away, she looked years younger.

She shook Alfred's hand, thanking everyone further, and left, heart much lighter than when she came.

As soon as her footsteps fell out of earshot, Arthur turned to his young boss and grimaced.

"How can you agree to it so easily? We can't possibly guarantee a successful exorcism or whatever it is we need to do! We know close to nothing about this case at all! If anything she should at least first pay us for making a trip there—"

"That's not true. We know it's a hotel; it's haunted, and what's causing the problems is the painting." Alfred stood higher, hands propping up onto his hips.

"Oh, bloody hell…" Arthur face-palmed; rolling his eyes, he waved his other hand around. "So what, we go down there and throw it away?"

"Maybe." Alfred stuck out his downer lip in a challenging manner.

The British man spluttered; "Do you _not know_ how potentially dangerous this could turn out to be? People _disappeared_; _people_," he pointed back and forth between himself and his coworkers, "like _everyone here_, can _die_ from your careless assumptions!"

Alfred yawned and turned away. "You're boring me. If you have so much energy why don't you go pack?"

It took Ivan to subdue the seething Londoner from attacking the American.

"How can you people work under someone like him?" Arthur asked after Alfred had gone out to buy food.

"We don't really work _under_ him, aru; we work _with_ him." Yao said as he took the initiative to water the potted plants around the room.

"How can you work_ with_ him?"

"Alfred is not too bad; he doesn't think much, but he always means the best for everyone, da~?" Ivan still held Arthur despite of the fact that Alfred had already left and the British man struggled.

Arthur sighed; "It's not about whether he means the best or not; do all of you not understand how serious our profession is? We have enough skeptics already without making a fool out of ourselves, and Jones is doing everything he can to look like an idiot."

"You'd be surprised," A smooth voice spoke up for the first time since the arrival of their current client; "It may _be_ his idiocy, he always has everything under control and never loose sight of the objective." Francis smoothed his already iron-pressed shirt with velvet-incased hands. "He's awfully determined to do good to the world, something ones like us may find hard to keep a sight of with our given abilities."

Matthew marveled at how the Frenchman never wore the same outfit _once_ since he'd met him.

Arthur pursed his lips but stopped struggling, and Ivan let him go. Walking briskly to the notebook Alfred had been scribbling on since the start of the questionings, he flipped it open, and, merely moments after, shouted out in dismay.

"What in the bloody hell—LOOK AT THIS!" The notebook was flung across the room and almost hit Matthew in the face. Scrambling to catch it, he looked inside curiously.

On all its pages, there were small sketches of aliens and burgers.

~o0o0o0o0o~

"…_Papa…?_

"…_Papa?"_

_He slowly walked forward, shoes stained with rainwater mixed with fresh blood._

"…_Wake up, Papa…"_

"…Matthieu?"

He jolted awake, breaking in cold sweat.

It took him a few seconds to come to his senses and see Francis' concerned face hovering above, breaths from his own.

"-Eh-Ehhh?" seemed to be one of the only things he was capable of producing in speech in the company of the Frenchman.

He looked around to distract himself from blushing too hard, and temporarily met Arthur's eyes. The British man turned around in the passenger's seat to glare at Francis, who wasn't aware in the least of his disapproval.

_Arthur must still be feeling sour about how Francis took the seat next to me…_

Matthew did not understand what his cousin was annoyed about. Francis was very nice to him and treated him with more care than he thought he deserved. He had asked the Brit about it, though his only answer had been a snort.

Turning his head a little, he looked to the back, and smiled as he saw Ivan and Yao snuggled together, the former snoring a little while the latter remained silent and was probably completely unaware of their proximity.

Shifting in his position once more, he sat up straighter in his seat, adjusting the seatbelt a little, and gazed out the window.

"How much further is it?" He asked.

"Not too long now, I would say." Francis answered, and would've said more if Arthur hadn't cut in.

"We already drove about two-thirds of the way, so only approximately an hour and a half left to go."

Francis looked a little annoyed at being cut off rudely, and Arthur met his eyes evenly with a hard look of his own.

"Easy for _you_ to say," Alfred chose that moment to whine, "I've been doing all the hard work! I still don't see why we couldn't just take a plane…" He pouted at the man sitting beside him.

"Eyes on the road, you git! You're going to get us killed before we even get there!" Arthur smacked the whining driver on the side of his head.

"OW!" Alfred shoved back with one hand; "What was that for? If you don't like my driving then why can't you drive?"

"You're the one who insisted I was unfit to as we 'British snobs drive on the other side of the road over the big pond'!" Arthur repaid Alfred's shove with another smack.

"Yeah? Well…You Brits are weird!" A more forceful shove.

"Stop shoving me!"

"Then stop smacking me!"

The two at the front of the van suddenly started fighting with each other with the room they could move in.

Matthew yelped as the car swerved dangerously close to the curb at high speed. "S-Stop fighting already!" He cried out, hands shooting out to grab the first things they could find, which turned out to be the safety handle and Francis' arm.

"He started it!" Alfred shouted, a hand pushing Arthur away as far as possible.

"Get off! GET OFF!" Arthur managed to somehow get one of his legs up in the air.

Their positions looked quite uncomfortable, but neither was aware of it.

More yelling, swerving, and an expensive ticket later, Ivan sat in the driver's seat, humming to a Russian tune playing on the radio while Alfred sat in the back, nursing his sore head where Arthur had accidentally kicked him ("Yeah _right_ an accident!") and sulking beside a sleepy Yao, who tried to convince him to put some herbs onto the bump to stop it from swelling.

Matthew sighed. _This is going to be one long hour-and-a-half…_

His hand was still wrapped loosely around Francis' arm, though he pretended to have forgotten about it.

~o0o0o~

Arriving at Hedgewood Hotel, Matthew was surprised by the size of it.

He expected a small, rectangular building with a dozen or so rooms resembling a small, two-floored apartment, since it was run by a couple, but, as he learnt, it was actually being run by a couple _and_ employed managers.

It was a four-floored building deep and wide built in a half-box shape. There had to be at least a hundred rooms. It was a white-painted building with clean, modern designs. It wasn't luxurious, but was very well-kept and welcoming.

Business wasn't flourishing, but that was understandable because of the disappearing incidents. Walking inside and pulling behind him a wheeled luggage case, Matthew looked around with interest at the large fish tanks at the sides of the lobby. A spiraled staircase led to the hotel restaurant. A larger number of people wandered about inside, and the Canadian was a little more relieved.

Mrs. Moore looked like such a gentle soul, and, from the way she spoke about the hotel, she cared a great lot about it. Matthew didn't want something important to her to go to waste because of a painting.

Alfred had gone up to the main desk to check-in. None of the employees knew about their arrival and purpose. They were to pretend to be regular guests and nothing more.

Waiting and watching their belongings, Matthew cast a worried glance at Alfred and Arthur talking to the lady at the main desk, hoping they wouldn't start arguing and mess things up. Arthur simply couldn't trust Alfred to be smart enough to pull everything off and insisted that he followed after the American, leaving the rest of the group standing on one side of the lobby. Ivan was instantly charmed and laughed with childish delight at the fish swimming around fake coral, almost dropping expensive equipments hidden in suitcases to run to the fish tank. Many people stared at the tall Russian cooing at the fish as they swam by; Matthew was amazed at how oblivious Ivan was to all the looks he was getting.

Yao joined Ivan in fish watching for a few moments before turning to head to the main desk, no doubt worried about Alfred and Arthur as Matthew had been, which left Matthew in Francis' company.

"They get along beautifully, don't they?" Francis commented after a long while of silence.

Matthew's flying thoughts revolving around the Frenchman instantly hit a stop. "Er-Erm…I guess that's one way to put it…"

Francis turned around, ocean-blue eyes wide in surprise; "Not '_eh_' this time, Matthieu?"

The Canadian wished for a hole to hop into to hide his red face, but since he had none, he simply lowered his chin.

Francis laughed, a sound pleasing to the ear; "I apologize. I shouldn't tease." He brushed a lingering hand on Matthew's cheeks gently, tilting the younger man's head up. "And you should never hide your face, Matthieu; it is a jewel to the world."

"'_A jewel to the world_', Bonnefoy?" Arthur's scoffing voice gave a mocking laugh as he walked closer, "If you could be any cornier you'd become a corn." Nearing the two, he threw a key at the Frenchman, who caught it easily and kept his displeased gaze on the approaching man.

"A-Arthur! That wasn't very nice!" Matthew protested, frowning slightly, as he found the statement very heartwarming and endearing, "Apologize to Francis, please!"

"No need to worry, _mon cher_," Francis turned to the Canadian and gave a warm, loving smile, "Just your defense on my person alone is enough to erase all ill feelings from my heart."

Matthew's cheeks grew hot once again; "…Th-Thank you…Francis…" He gave a timid, small, but happy smile in return.

Arthur glanced back and forth between the two and scowled in irritation. Alfred walked by him at that moment, and, needing someone to openly express his anger on, he swung his foot out and kicked the American on the shin.

"_OW!_ DAMNIT ARTHUR!" Alfred hollered and jumped, "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _you_?" Arthur replied with a level tone.

"Stop kicking me!" Alfred rubbed his shin and looked up with displeasure flashing in his bright, blue eyes, but, instead of starting another verbal war, he sighed and straightened his back. "I'm _definitely_ not sleeping with _you_!" He stated in a matter-of-fact way as if it was the best comeback in the history of clever comebacks.

Arthur opened his mouth, but abruptly froze. His eyes grew round as he gaped at the American.

Perhaps it _was_ the best comeback in the history of clever comebacks.

"…W-Well…I…I don't want to sleep with you either! As if I'd want to stay in the same room with someone so insufferable! Come on, Matthew!" The fuming Brit grabbed onto Matthew's wrist and stomped towards the elevators.

"W-Wait! Arthur! Our luggage!" Matthew protested, throwing a look back at the Frenchman longingly.

Francis wore a similar expression combined with sympathy.

Arthur hit an immediate stop. Turning around sharply, he stomped to where his suitcase was and grasped onto its handle in a curt manner before stomping away once more.

Matthew ran to his things and gathered them into his arms, shuffling past Francis and Alfred, he mouthed an apology.

"Matthew! Hurry up!"

He winced and ran after the British man.

Watching the two disappear into the elevator, Francis sighed.

He wanted to stay in the same room as little Matthieu.

"So, I guess I'll be sleeping with you then?" Alfred turned and gave him thumbs up along with a wide grin.

Francis lifted an eyebrow; "I suppose it could be worse."

"Hey!" Alfred looked genuinely offended, "I make a very good room mate!"

A few steps away, Yao was tugging Ivan by the elbow trying to move the man away from the fish tank, but failing miserably.

"Look at all these pretty fish! We have to get some in the office once we get back, da~?" The Russian called out excitedly.

Yao, face red in effort at trying to move the mountain that was Ivan, replied in a frustrated tone, "We have to check into our room so we can set up our equipments later, aru! Stop looking at the fish, aru!"

Standing in the elevator, Matthew looked down at the key that was shoved into his palm.

"…Arthur…our room's on the first floor, eh?"

~o0o0o0o0o~

Falling onto his back, Matthew sighed in comfort and nuzzled into the soft bed. Arthur had already settled in; sounds of the shower could be heard as steam rose lazily through the crack of the bathroom door.

The room was relatively dark as the curtains were drawn. Only a bedside lamp was turned on aside from the bathroom light streaming through the door. Feeling a yawn, Matthew stretched his limbs and turned to his side.

His eyelids felt heavy. _Just a short nap…_he thought, and all light vanished as he closed his eyes and sunk into a deep sleep.

…

_The air was stifling._

_He could barely breathe._

_Breathing was a privilege he'd abused when he was alive._

_He tried to move, but his body felt rooted to the ground. Lifting his head as best as he could, which wasn't much, he saw dry sky, a roaring sea, and an overhanging, dirt cliff._

_Everything was off in a way he could not quite put his finger on. Something was not right. The sea waves looked sloshed, and the cliff was smudged. Clouds appeared to be stationary while the ocean raged on as if in midst of a storm._

_He could barely see from his position, but he knew there were others around him._

_What's going on…?_

_Suddenly a face appeared millimeters from his own, sneering, laughing, and horrible._

_One side of the face was that of a beautiful woman, and the other was burnt flesh charred and disgusting. The reeking odor of burnt muscle and tissue filled his nostrils, and he felt vomit in the back of his throat._

_He was falling._

"_Who are you?" A raspy voice asked, but it sounded far away now._

_He was falling down, further and further…_

"…_Who are you?"_

He woke up, gasping. His body gave a jerky spasm, and he quickly pushed himself into a sitting position.

Rubbing the places where his glasses dug into his face, he looked around dazedly.

Arthur was still showering, so it must meant he was only asleep for no more than five minutes or so.

He gave a deep sigh, massaging his temples.

He'd just got here and already he was having these dreams…

But then again, wasn't this what he was supposed to do? That was the reason he was able to contribute to the agency after all.

Deciding the dream was worth enough to let Alfred know about it, he slipped into his shoes and walked towards the door.

He knew by then why everything in the dream was distorted. It was because nothing was truly real; because everything was painted, merely colours spread across a canvas.

"Arthur?" He stopped by the bathroom door and called.

"Yes?" Arthur's voice echoed.

"I'm going out for a sec."

"Alright. I'll be done soon, so I can let you back in."

"Okay." Matthew shook his head and muffled a chuckle. What Arthur really meant was: don't wander and end up staying in Francis' room.

Carefully closing the room door behind him, he turned, and was pleasantly surprised to find Francis outside in the hall. His lips opened to say hi, but he immediately stopped as he took notice of what Francis was actually doing.

The Frenchman held both gloves in one hand, while the other, bare and elegant, was placed firmly against the wall.

His eyes were closed; he had a look of concentration on his face.

Matthew frowned. _What's he doing?_

After a little while, Francis opened his eyes, still deep in thought, and slid his hands back into his silk gloves.

Matthew blinked. "…Francis?"

The Frenchman actually jumped, though he quickly recovered and recomposed himself.

"Ahh, Matthieu! What are you doing here in the hallway all by yourself?" He smiled, though his eyes still had a little of a far-away look.

"I can ask you the same thing," Matthew tilted his head, "I was on my way to speak to Alfred when I saw you. What were you doing?"

Francis blinked slowly in contemplation; it was as if he was wondering how to word his answer.

"You see," He began, walking a little closer to the curious Canadian, a soft smile on his lips and eyes shimmering in an enchanting manner; "Ever since I was young, wherever I touch, or rather, whatever I come in contact with, I see its history before me similar to how most would see a motion film, but, at the same time, experience all that's happened as though I was physically there; the same applies to people."

Matthew's eyes widened; "So…that's why you said—"

"If I were to shake hands with you bare, yes, I would see your whole life flash before my eyes," Francis nodded lightly, a strand of smooth curls falling from behind his ear, "It used to be quite horrible when I couldn't control it at all. Anyone who touched me would send me falling to the floor with their memories screaming through my head at lightning speed. I'm still working out the details, but now…at least…" He reached forward and gently guided Matthew's hand to his face, "…I can be _touched_…" His voice was a whisper, and Matthew was suddenly aware of how close they were. With shaky fingers, the Canadian tucked the fallen strand of soft hair behind the Frenchman's ear.

The taller of the two closed his eyes, and nuzzled into the small, warm palm cupped around his cheek.

Matthew shivered at the gesture, and, tilting his sparkling eyes upwards, asked softly, "…Can I trust you to not flip through my memories like an opened book when I touch you…?"

Francis opened his eyes.

"_Oui, je promets._" He said, and leaned closer.

Matthew did not know what to do. He'd just met Francis but not long ago, and knew that this was perhaps moving too fast. Yet, as he met the deep, captivating gaze, felt unable to pull away.

Instead, he took in a light breath, and felt his eyes fluttering close as Francis drew closer.

His body was shaken like a thin leaf as warmth embraced him.

He could feel Francis' lips breaths away from his own…

"Hey Francis have you seen my—Oh!" Alfred's voice cut through the atmosphere like a cold bucket of water.

Matthew jumped, skidding back a few tiny steps in embarrassment.

Francis sighed, irritated at being interrupted, but the spell of the moment had already been broken; he'd have to do this again another time.

"Sorry, didn't know you were…" Alfred waved a hand signaling between the two, "…doing…_this_…"

"It's fine," Francis shook his irritation away; bad feelings were unattractive; "What is it?" He addressed the American.

"Well, I _was_ looking for my socks, but now that you're done with your touching thing," Alfred rubbed a hand on the wall beside him as if to emphasize his point, "Did you find anything out?"

Matthew blushed harder at Alfred's mention of the "touching thing" as it triggered a replay of recent events. Francis forced down the urge to roll his eyes at the bad wording, and replied:

"This building is young, but the land it stands on is not. I didn't dare delve too deep into details; it was too gruesome," at that he gave an involuntary shudder, and Matthew immediately felt a pang of worry, but at the same time was amazed at how well the older man dealt with having to feel "gruesome" things up close and personal; "Many died a horrible death here, but the most significant event is definitely the fire that happened here fifty years or so ago. It was an asylum, but it burnt down completely; all died despite of best efforts to save those inside it. Coincidentally, the ground we stand on happens to be something similar to that of a doorway for otherworldly things to pass through." The look in Francis' eyes suddenly hardened. "I highly doubt these 'guests' who stayed in room 105 were all too human."

Matthew's eyes widened; Alfred looked intrigued.

"Is that why so many people died here?" The American crossed his arms and leant against the wall.

Francis nodded; "It could be. What alarms me the most, however, is how the spirits are all trapped, either between these walls or within the painting as Mrs. Moore noticed. For a superstition to take on solid form as to fool surrounding humans into thinking them to be of warm flesh, that is deep magic. None of your everyday ghosts has that power. And, to think, to have _those_ rendered unable to pass on and _enslaved_ in an object such as a painting…" He trailed off.

A cold atmosphere of realization and underlining fear enclosed around the three.

Matthew was suddenly afraid to voice out his dream as he was scared to admit that whatever entity that haunted this hotel was probably very aware of their presence and purpose by then, quite possibly because of his nosy ability to see things he wasn't supposed to.

Alfred hummed and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Gather everyone. We need to figure out what we're dealing with, and form a plan. I don't want to find out when it's too late what that _thing_ wants all those spirits for." Alfred threw a look at the door marked "105", and turned back into his own room directly opposite of it.

Matthew quickly went to his room shared with Arthur, marked "103", and gave three clear knocks.

Francis walked further down towards room "107" to inform Yao and Ivan of the meeting. Passing by "105", he gave it a fleeting look, and wondered how the three, simple numbers could look so menacing.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Munching on a burger ordered by room service and dressed in a shirt and boxers, Alfred stood before his team, a hand on his hips. "So what do you guys think?" He said after explaining what Francis had found out.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Arthur stared with distain, "And why aren't you dressed? We don't need to see your knickers."

"I just took a shower. I was looking for my socks when I had a chat with-" he waved to the general direction of where Francis was while he took another bite of his burger.

Arthur wasn't sure if that answered his question properly, but decided not to be too picky about it. "Well, do you at least have an idea as to who we are dealing with?"

Alfred swallowed his mouthful and reached backwards for his glass of soda; "Not really. Francis and I both think it's probably not human, but we don't have any leads as to what it actually is. All we know for now is that a lot of people died here."

"I can probably look something up, aru; I'm good with analytical work." Yao nodded to himself with a pleased expression. He was sitting on Alfred's bed with legs crossed under him and absentmindedly played with his hair from time to time.

"Great! I always hated doing that boring crap." Alfred looked very relieved.

"That's why you'd go nowhere without me, aru…" The Chinese man sighed and shook his head, but held a small, kind smile nonetheless.

"Matthieu," Francis leant forward from his slight lounging position in his armchair, "You mentioned to me before that you wanted to speak to Alfred about something?"

All eyes turned to the Canadian sitting in a corner. Matthew jolted a little, eyes flickering between the faces waiting for him to speak.

He did not know whether to feel touched that Francis cared enough to remember everything he said or anxious that he now _had_ to say what he didn't want to make known yet.

"Errm…" He did not have time to decided and blurted out, "I-I think I dreamt about our culprit…"

Silence met his statement as surprise washed over the other occupants in the room.

"…Really?" Alfred put his soda and burger down, rushing to his bag and pulling out his notebook.

"Oh for God's sakes, why do you even need that thing when all you do is doodle in it…" Arthur grumbled under his breath, but the American did not hear it.

"What did you see in your dream?" Alfred looked eagerly at Matthew, who squirmed under the many pairs of eyes waiting for an answer just as expectantly.

"Well…I'm-I'm actually not too sure if it_ is_ the culprit, eh…just a hunch I guess…" Matthew laughed weakly, and when nobody said anything back, he continued; "I…I dreamt I was inside the painting, and she talked to me, asking who I was…" His voice faded off to a mumble, "She…might already know why we're here…"

"Was there anything significant about her?" Alfred scribbled something into the notebook, and Matthew wondered if it were an alien or a burger.

"She was…in her twenties, I would guess. She had dark hair…was quite pretty if it weren't for—" Matthew gulped, "If it weren't for her burnt face…"

That peaked Alfred's attention; he had stopped doodling in his notebook. "Burnt?"

Matthew nodded; "Quite horribly…half of her face was completely ruined. I can't be sure how the rest of her was like since she wore a red dress or some sort, but…the smell of burnt flesh was…quite strong…" He looked down, temporarily feeling overwhelmed as he suddenly felt the dream once again.

Francis looked concerned and made to get up to go to Matthew's side, but Arthur beat him to it. Rubbing Matthew's back gently, he comforted the shaken Canadian, and turned to Francis, giving a triumphant look.

The Frenchman lifted an eyebrow. Really…that English man was quite childish at times.

That lifting of the eyebrow gesture seemed to somehow anger the Brit, who scowled and looked away.

Well, it wasn't his fault that his eyebrows were perfectly arched and well-shaped, unlike Kirkland's.

Alfred hummed; "Well, I guess that means we have a head start on where to look." Turning to Yao, he said, "Francis said that there was a fire about fifty years ago that burnt down an entire asylum here. No survivors."

Yao nodded, "I'll look into it, aru."

"Great! Now that we got _that_ settled, let's set everything up in '105' and take a look at that painting!" Alfred swung a fist, pumped and vigorous with a determined grin.

_He makes it sounds like we're going to an amusement park…_Matthew thought and couldn't help but let a small, amused smile escape to his face. He understood a little why Alfred was essential to the wellbeing of this team; doing what they do, surrounded by negative energy sometimes thick like poisonous fume, Alfred somehow was entirely unaffected, and that kept the balance in place for all of them.

Looking across the room, sitting beside Yao, Ivan did not say a thing, or, rather, did not move a lot at all. He looked like a statue with a curious expression, blinking his large eyes in an innocent manner.

Matthew had an approximate grasp of what everyone in the little group does, all except for Ivan. The Russian never exhibited anything in particular that would contribute to their work.

_Maybe he's hiding it till the moment it's needed?_ He wondered as they all got up to start setting up the equipments in room "105", mildly aware of the beseeching speech scolding Alfred to put on a pair of pants from a stern British man.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

_mon cher _– my dear

_Oui, je promets._ – Yes, I promise.

**Ending Notes:** Personally I think Ivan has the most kick-ass power of the whole group, but you guys'd have to find out what he does later on. ;) For now, adieu! And please leave me a few words!


	3. CASE1: Hedgewood Hotel, Part 2

**Author's Notes:** Enjoy…? XD

_Thanks once again for the reviews, favourites, and everything!_ :D

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

In truth, the painting was not much.

Matthew stood in front of it, taking in its details and finding correspondents from his dream. Behind him, clicking and thudding sounds of video cameras and microphones being set up could be heard. Alfred was currently arguing with Arthur about where to place the infrared motion detectors and the thermographic camera. There was probably nothing much to argue over in the first place, but the two seemed to develop a liking towards voicing directly opposite opinions whenever possible.

Yao could be heard trying to dissuade the two from getting too heated. Ivan tried to help as well, though his little comments only seemed to fuel the rising voices.

Matthew sighed and turned away from the painting of an overhanging cliff and the sea. Without a doubt there were shadowy shapes that were not applied by a brush on the canvas; the lady in red was a small figure standing on the edge of the cliff, face turned away while her dress was eternally captured as flying in the wind behind her.

Francis did not appear bothered by the shouting duo both red in the face. The argument had escalated away from the equipments long ago, so the Frenchman silently began to set up the sensors and camera at places he thought appropriate.

Deciding to help, Matthew walked towards the figure connecting wires to the thermographic camera.

"Is there anything I can do?" He asked as he got closer.

Francis turned slightly and smiled affectionately, hair fallen over parts of his face as he was half-bent down in setting up the tripod. "Could you hand me the wire marked with blue tape, please?"

Matthew quickly got the wire as Francis straightened up. "_Merci_." He watched as the camera was placed on the tripod and the wire connected.

"_Ahh_, that should do just fine…What do you think, Matthieu?" Ocean-blue eyes turned to meet his.

Matthew blinked away, suddenly self-conscious and slightly flushed in the cheeks; "I'm not very experienced in this, eh…" His small voice replied.

"Hmmm…do you think this angle would cover everything?" Francis asked again in a soft, gentle tone.

The Canadian swept his eyes across the room. Thinking it was a very good spot to place the camera, he nodded.

"_Bien!_" Francis exclaimed, smile breaking into a grin as he wrapped an arm around Matthew's shoulders, causing the younger man to splutter in surprise. Turning his face towards the adorably blushing one's, he spoke in a hushed voice, "What do you say we leave these excited souls here to their arguments and have dinner?"

Matthew's heart secretly swelled at the thought, but, as the polite young man that he was, spoke of his uncertainty: "Would…Would it be alright to just leave them here though?"

"_Oui, bien sûr._"

"But…Wouldn't it be rude to not invite them?"

Francis shifted his eyes to look at the American and the Brit almost at each other's throats while Yao stood between them shouting in half Chinese out of alarm. Ivan was no longer trying to stop them from yelling obscenities and unfounded accusations at each other, and, instead, clapped and laughed in a childlike voice, enjoying the show immensely.

"It would be rude to interrupt them; your cousin seems to have quite a strong liking towards Alfred," Francis shook his head and hid a chuckle; "Besides, I have no reason to treat them to dinner."

"-Ehh?" Mathew blinked and looked up towards the taller man, eyes widening; "I-I mean, you don't have to—"

"_Non_, I want to." The Frenchman smiled lovingly. "Come; let us leave them _some_ privacy to fight their passions out." With that, he led the flustered Canadian out through the door, starting a light conversation about fine cuisine and wine.

Matthew stole once last look at his cousin and Alfred before walking out the door. His heart fluttered pleasantly, if not nervously, inside his chest.

Through his haze of happy thoughts, he missed altogether the resentful glare sent his way from the painting on the wall, from the lady in red whose face was suddenly very visible, charred flesh half hidden in shadow.

~o0o0o0o0o~

A candle-lit dinner with fresh roses on the side under the moon light was the last thing Matthew had expected coming onto a trip meant for paranormal investigations.

_A lot of unexpected things have happened so far…_He thought, stealing shy glances at the handsome man sitting across from him, lazily swirling a glass of wine in his hand, gazing at him with tenderness and adoration.

How Francis could find places like this as if by intuition Matthew was not sure of, but he was very glad he did. They were in a small garden-like balcony overlooking the town. It was a little chilly, but Matthew thought it was definitely worth the scenery than to sit inside.

A few more small, round tables scattered across the balcony. This seemed to be a popular spot for couples.

Watching the other pairs of lovers whisper in soft voices into each other's ears, Matthew looked down, a little sad.

He hardly thought he made good conversation, and always said the wrong thing at the worst time, or simply said nothing at all.

"I've said this before, Matthieu," Francis' gentle voice roused him from his moment of self-shame, "You should not hide your lovely face to the world." If anyone else were to say it, it would no doubt sound cheesy and insincere, but the earnest shimmer in Francis' deep, bewitching eyes and the soft, husky timber in his voice made Matthew's mind swim in a haze of euphoria.

The Canadian lifted his head up and gave a big, happy grin.

The Frenchman chuckled, amused, wondering briefly if the one opposite of him was a little tipsy, as his cheeks were quite flushed, but did not question.

"Tell me a little about you, Matthieu," Francis offered, eyes attentive, but not insistent.

Matthew blushed harder; "I…there really isn't much about me that's interesting…"

"That can't be true!" Francis made a small, disbelieving noise; his eyes twinkled as if the stars; "I find your company an enchantment to my senses; there is nothing you can say that would not spark my interest." His enthralling smile never faltered, and only widened a little in encouragement.

"…W-Well…In that case…I guess I should at least try to find something to say, eh?" Matthew sipped on his wine carefully, a thoughtful expression on his face.

The Frenchman waited patiently, and noted all the small changes of thoughts in the Canadian's round, watery eyes.

"Um…" Matthew gave Francis a shy look, "I like to make snowmen in the winter…"

The ocean-blue eyes across from his lit up, and he took that as a sign to continue.

"It usually doesn't snow very much where I live, but for the past two years or so, there's been an abnormally large amount of snow in Vancouver. Most people found it a discomfort, or a hindrance, but I actually enjoyed it." A small, fond smile graced Matthew's lips as his eyes warmed in happy memories; "There was so much snow I managed to make three snowmen all in my backyard! They were almost as tall as I am! It was hard to find branches for their arms with all the snow though…" Matthew trailed off, unaware of the pout he developed on his face.

Francis couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, eyes flooding in affection.

"…When I was young, my mother always made snowmen with me while my family went up to Whistler for Christmas." Matthew continued, his eyes faraway deep in memories; "She used to buy candy for the eyes and the nose, but I'd always sneak a few into my mouth when she wasn't looking. When she realized that I'd eaten them, she'd try to look disapproving, but always ended up laughing and taking me to buy more so the snowmen wouldn't be without faces." He paused.

There was a moment of silence as his expression started dropping little by little.

"…I remember thinking how much I loved her, how she was the best mother in the world…" His voice lowered to a whisper; "…but I can barely remember her face now…" His voice faded off, and he was suddenly aware of something wet sliding down along his cheeks.

Francis was still, expression surprised as his arm was half-raised, holding the glass as if to bring it to his lips.

He quickly wiped his tears away, embarrassed and hating himself for ruining the dinner with things he'd promised himself to never talk about.

"I-I mean," He hurriedly kept on to talk just to fill the silence, "I have photos, of course, but I can't really remember…it's not the same I guess. We took pictures with the snowmen as well!" He forcefully plastered a cheerful smile on his face, hoping Francis wouldn't notice how strained it was. "They were quite well-made; I should show them to you sometimes! You'd be surprised at how big they were considering I was so small…"

Francis did not smile back at his grin, and his mask of false delight fell.

"I…I'm sorry Francis…I don't know what's come over me—"

"Matthieu…"

"I promise I won't do it again! I'm so sorry for ruining the dinner. I know it was important to you and I was looking forward to it too but-but—I was being stupid! I'm so sorry…" Matthew ran out of things to blabber about, and sunk into silence, head lowering once again.

"…Matthieu…" Francis spoke up as he waited for the younger man to finish; his eyes were compassionate, and voice gentle and consoling. His heart clenched in a painful manner at what had just unfolded in front of him, but he was careful not to let that overwhelm him.

He knew the last thing Matthew needed was pity.

"_Mon cher Matthieu_," He began, tone sincere and soft, "As much as I love to see you smile, you are not obligated to always do so front of me."

Matthew remained still for a brief moment, but he slowly looked up, eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

"…But…isn't it often said that…despite of what happens, you should always have a smile on your face…?" He asked, voice a sad whisper.

"That is an awfully cruel thing to ask anyone to do," Francis' eyes were kind; "You should only smile when you feel the genuine desire to."

Warmth swelled in Matthew's heart, and, despite of how cheesy he knew it would look, a small smile spread across his lips. And, embarrassed, he laughed, a few tears falling over from his eyes as he blinked.

He reached up to wipe them, but before he could, a warm palm encased in smooth silk cupped around his cheek.

He gasped; his body tingled.

Francis carefully swept the tears away with his thumb.

"Th-Thank you, Francis," The Canadian said, a little breathless, and wished he could say more.

Francis nodded, taking his hand back, and motioned to the food. "You have not eaten much," He said, "It would be a shame not to."

Matthew gave a small hum of agreement and took up a bite of his fish. Francis was right; it was very well-seasoned and fresh.

Just as Matthew opened his mouth to inquire about the fish, a light buzzing sound interrupted.

Francis winced, a little startled by the suddenness of it, and reached into his pocket.

"I apologize, Matthieu," Francis took out his phone, frowning.

"No worries," Matthew smiled, shaking his head.

Without sparing a second glance at the still buzzing device, the Frenchman turned it off and put it back into his pocket.

Mathew stared; "…Francis…Do you…maybe…want to answer that?"

The other man shook his head, "It would be rude on my behalf, _mon cher_." A warm smile followed.

Matthew blushed (he's been doing an awful lot of that whenever around Francis), and took another small bite from the fish. He was a little embarrassed that, had he been in Francis' situation, he probably would've excused himself and answered. Now that he thought about it, it would indeed be a little rude to simply get up and leave; though it'd only be a little while, it _was_ their first dinner together after all.

However, embarrassment faded away as a rush of gratitude and affection quickly embraced his heart; he felt special, and that was something rare, a little too rare for his emotional well-being, perhaps. Giving Francis a shy smile back, eyes beaming, he was amazed at how much a small gesture that was probably habitual for the Frenchman touched him in such a heartfelt way.

The dinner continued on without interruptions as the candles burned down little by little, droplets of wax cooling at the bottom of the candleholders.

~o0o0o0o0o~

"_Where the hell were you?_" Arthur's seething face was the first thing Matthew saw as he walked through the door of the hotel into the lobby with Francis holding an arm around him. The British man was pacing back and forth in front of one of the fish tanks before he noticed his cousin walking in, talking to the Frenchman. "And why didn't you bring your phone?"

Matthew blinked; he expected Arthur to be annoyed with him, but not furious like this.

"I…I went to have dinner with Francis." He said; "As for my phone, I forgot to get it from our room."

"You had _dinner_ till_ ten at night_? How could you wander off alone with _him_ and not say anything to us about it?" Arthur's bushy eyebrows seemed to jerk in an angry dance.

The Canadian was just going to reply when Francis answered for him; "We did not say anything because you were busy arguing and completely ignoring everyone else around you except for Alfred."

Arthur winced, glaring at Francis. "I'm not talking to you, _Bonnefoy_." He spat the word out in distaste, and, Matthew, irritated with the Londoner's persisting attitude, pulled Francis closer to himself.

"Why can't you leave everyone alone for once, Arthur? No one can ever live up to your standards. In case you haven't noticed everyone else gets along perfectly fine except for _you_!" His voice was low, and uncharacteristically heated.

Arthur froze, shock obvious on his face. Hurt quickly replaced it as what his little cousin had just said sunk in.

Matthew seemed to realize how harsh his words were as well, for he gasped and covered his mouth.

"I…I'm sorry Arthur…I didn't mean—it's just that you're always unhappy with everything—"

"-Forget it! Go frolic with that bastard for all I care!" The split second before Arthur swung his body around and stomped away, Matthew thought he saw a quiver of the lips and the sharp, green eyes tearing up.

"Oh Francis, what have I done?" The Canadian cried out in dismay as he watched the retreating figure of his cousin.

"Something perhaps you shouldn't have, but all has been said and you can't take it back now." Francis patted Matthew's shoulder lightly, "Give him some time to calm down and we'll go apologize to him, _oui_?"

"…We?" Matthew looked up.

"_Oui_." Francis answered.

"N-No; no, I meant…" Matthew blushed, "You said '_we_' will go apologize to him…?"

"Oh," The taller of the two chuckled and nodded, "Yes, 'we'. I…probably shouldn't have said what I did either, though it will be hard to admit that to him."

Matthew smiled a little, nodding; "Arthur would no doubt rub it in our faces after."

Francis hummed in agreement, and the two made their way to their rooms.

Thinking it was better to give Arthur some privacy to collect his thoughts first, Francis invited Matthew to his room. When the door swung open, they were slightly surprised to see Ivan standing with his arms crossed a few steps away, leaning on the TV table.

They could yet see the entire room as there was a small hall leading into where the beds were, but, seeing a strangely serious expression on Ivan's usually smiling face, immediately knew something was wrong.

Matthew ran into the room, Francis quickly following after. The Canadian turned his head and abruptly stopped dead in his tracks, hands shooting up to cover his mouth as a loud gasp ripped from his lips.

Alfred was on the bed, trying to give a brave smile to the worried faces around him. But his smile was more of a grimace as he held one of his arms carefully, where a nasty burn lined his forearm on the side, red, angry, and with large blisters at some parts.

It was as if someone had thrown boiling water onto it.

Yao was mixing something, a medicine of some sort made up of herbs, muttering in Chinese as he threw little bits of things no one else in the room recognized into a little bowl after he'd cut them.

Matthew teared up as he saw Arthur sitting beside Alfred, face abnormally taut and expressionless, eyes glassy; the Canadian right away knew why his cousin had been so livid upon his return with Francis, and what the phone call Francis ignored because of him had probably been about; he couldn't imagine what his team mates must've been going through, or what could've happened to cause such a hideous, nasty injury.

"What happened?" Francis' cool voice asked what was screaming inside Matthew's head; the younger man was once again surprised at how calm the Frenchman sounded, but that thought quickly was flung out the window.

There was a hard glint in Francis' eyes. His posture was painfully straight, and his lips were pressed together tightly.

"I was…just careless, that's all," Alfred tried to laugh, but ended up muffling a groan of pain; "We were studying the painting, and…I should've listened to Arthur and not tried to move it…" He tried to laugh it off once more, and managed to wheeze out a few breaths, though they did nothing to lighten the mood and sounded downright heart-wrenching.

"…It's all my fault!" Arthur's tense voice cut through Alfred's laughter. Matthew bit his lips; unable to look at Arthur's distressed face any longer, he concentrated on his cousin's hands instead, which were clenched tightly around the fabric of his pants, knuckles white with tension.

"…Arthur—" Alfred started, but was cut off again.

"-Damn it!" Arthur snapped his face away, biting his trembling lips; his shoulders were quavering; "Had I…Had I not argued with you prior to the incident then…then you probably would've listened to me and this wouldn't have happened!" He gasped in a hitched breath and cursed under his breath, hands rising to rub at his eyes angrily. "My damned temper – I can't…I can't stop it sometimes! This is not…This is not the first time it's caused something bad to—…"

…_happen to someone I care about…_Matthew finished in his head, forcing himself to not start crying and make things worse.

"…I was…I was so scared…" Arthur's body started shaking horribly, "You just…You just burst into flames and for a second, I swear to God for a second I thought-I thought…" Hands muffling bitten back sobs, he bent over, forehead resting on his knees as he swore under his breath, almost ashamed at how shaken he was.

The room was silent and still except for Arthur's hitched breathing.

No one knew what to do; Yao had stopped his stirring and was looking over with worry swimming in his dark eyes.

Alfred watched, unsure of how to respond. He sighed, brushing his unharmed hand through his hair, smiling a little with fondness and concern at the sniffing figure sitting by his bed.

"Hey," He called, tone surprisingly soft for a loud-spoken man like him, "I'm fine, aren't I? I'm a big guy; I can take care of myself, yeah? It'd take a lot more than some little ol' painting to kill _me_. After all, I'm the _hero_!" He gave the Londoner a thumb-up, though the upset man couldn't see it.

After a few moments, Arthur seemed to have calmed down a little. He straightened up, and, wiping his face clean with his sleeves, he sent a weak glare at the grinning American.

"No, you're an idiot. Though it's true idiots don't die easily." He said, and Alfred laughed.

"That's my Arthur! I didn't think your snarkiness'd fade off that easily, anyways!" The American reached with his good hand and ruffled at Arthur's already messy hair.

"Oh for God's sakes…" Arthur swatted at Alfred's hand, though his attempts were weak and half-hearted, "And 'snarkiness' isn't a word." He corrected dutifully.

"Awwww, this is why I love you!" Alfred laughed and blew an exaggerated kiss at the Brit.

Arthur abruptly stiffened, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Another shade of red spread through his face, and he coughed, pushing himself up onto his feet.

"I'm going to wash my face." He said, not meeting Alfred's confused eyes, and left for the bathroom without a second word.

Sensing the atmosphere lighting a little, Yao approached Alfred with his little bowl of crushed herbs.

"This should calm the burn and stop the sting, aru, and make it heal faster." He said, taking Arthur's seat. Instructing Alfred to place his arm flat on the bed, the Chinese man carefully started applying the remedy.

"You should be feeling a cool sensation, aru." He added.

Alfred let out a deep sigh, eyes blinking close as he relaxed into the bed. "Yeah…that feels good…" He murmured.

"…A-Alfred…?" A timid, small voice called.

Alfred opened his eyes, and saw Matthew glancing at him nervously, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"I…I'm sorry…for everything…" The Canadian looked so sad and hurt that, if the situation were different, Alfred would've jumped up and scooped him into his arms.

"You never did anything wrong, you know," the one on the bed gave a big, bright smile, "Besides, I'm just glad you weren't there to hear Arthur screaming his head off; my ears are still ringing from that!"

Alfred breathed a small sigh of relief as Matthew laughed a little; honestly, he didn't know how Francis could do it, dealing with someone so fragile-hearted.

"So don't worry about it, kid," the American gave a small wink, "It was no one's fault but mine."

"…You're not really that much older than me, eh…?" The younger blonde pouted, referring to the "kid" comment, but smiled.

Francis, glad his little Matthieu was feeling better, leant over and kissed him on the forehead. Alfred wondered if the Frenchman had charmed his way into the Canadian's heart already, but, seeing Matthew's blush and happy, but slightly reserved smile, he knew the dandy would have to do a lot more to make and ensure a special place.

Settling into a more comfortable position and ignoring Yao's quiet protests as a few clumps of herb salve fell off, he was glad the day had come to an end and he was able to rest. Tomorrow will be a new day, and he was already looking forward to it.

Shifting his line of vision, he spotted Ivan, who was silent throughout the entire ordeal and had not moved a single step from against the TV table since arriving into this room. The tall Russian had an unreadable expression, lips a little pursed into an almost pout. His usual seemingly naïve smile was completely absent, violet-tinted eyes watching Yao as he applied more of the salve onto Alfred's arm.

Was that…_jealousy_ on his face? Alfred wondered, but, feeling kind of lazy, decided he'd had enough thinking for the day and turned his eyes away.

_Damn…maybe Arthur's right…_he thought; _maybe I really should make myself do more thinking in case I do turn stupid…_

…_Nah_, he quickly shook the thought away; _thinking wastes energy for doing heroic things._

Satisfied with the answer, he nodded to himself and closed his eyes, not seeing the looks he was getting from his audience.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Alfred sat in front of the monitors set up beside the TV, eating a bowl of creamy chocolate pudding. His arm no longer stung, but dulled to a throb. Checking between the different screens, he only looked up when Francis came out of the bathroom, wearing a dark blue, silk bathrobe that clung to his frame a little from moisture, and slippers, gently towel drying his hair.

"Don't try too hard, Francis; you don't want to come across as desperate," he sent a wink to the Frenchman, who rolled his eyes but laughed.

"With an attractive face like mine all I'd need to do is open my arms and you'd fall right in, _mon ami_," Francis patted Alfred's shoulder as he walked past him; "And you wouldn't even know what's come over you; I am just_ that good_." He brushed his wet, smooth blond hair back in a fluid motion as his voice dropped to a low whisper; his skin gleamed, still semi-wet at places, as he tilted his head, giving his audience a clear view as a droplet of water slowly slid down along the curve of his lean neck.

Alfred stared, surprised at the sudden shift of persona, mouth open as the pudding in his spoon fell onto his shirt.

"I told you so~" Francis gave a sloppy, lazy smirk and got the American a tissue.

Alfred snapped his mouth shut; looking down and seeing the pudding, he whined.

"Franciiis! Look what you've done!" He scooped up the pudding from his shirt with a finger and licked it clean before taking the napkin.

Francis made a face but did not comment; he had gotten somewhat used to Alfred's sometimes ghastly habits, though he did not understand or appreciate them in the least.

"Have you noticed anything strange on the monitors?" The longer-haired one asked, taking a seat on his bed and opening a bottle of body lotion before spreading it evenly onto his legs. The scent of roses wafted through the air.

"Not really, except that the temperature in the room has been decreasing little by little ever since last night, looking back to the data recorded." Alfred finished his pudding, sucking on the spoon thoughtfully; "…I wonder if something's going to happen…" He added as an afterthought in a murmur.

Francis turned his head and took a look at the monitors himself. On the screen connected to the thermographic camera, cool colours dominated it, while a particular dark spot seemed to swell from where the painting was.

The next day had been surprisingly, if not disappointingly, eventless.

The team took turns to watch the monitors, and played cards to pass time.

Alfred went to report the most recent progress of investigation to the Moore family in the afternoon, and everyone had dinner in the hotel restaurant.

However, it seemed that the American's hero-instinct had been right, as the clock ticked early in the morning before the sun had risen.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

_Merci_. – Thank you.

_Bien! _– Good!

_Oui, bien sûr._ – Yes, of course.

_Mon cher Matthieu_ – My dear Matthieu

…I thought the "we"-"_oui_" part was funny ;)

**Ending Notes:** Sorry that there was so much(maybe?) tear-shedding, but this definitely won't be the only tear-shedding part of this story.

Anyone else like making snowmen in the winter?

This chapter is a bit shorter than the previous one, but I promise I'll make it up to you guys in the next chapter, in which there's going to be more action, like magical stuff and Russian ass-whopping (not literally, _yet_). I'm going to try to update on Friday.

Just out of curiosity, if you could have a supernatural power, what would you like to have? Would you start a career in ghost-hunting in the name of justice? Man, that's what I want to do! If only there's a major I can get in college for it…


	4. CASE1: Hedgewood Hotel, Part 3

**Author's Notes:** More action! :D

Please correct my French if anything's wrong!

_Thank you guys so much for all the support; I love you all!_

Exclamation marks ftw!

Ok, I shut up now. XD

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

…_She was mad with anger. Her fury knew no bounds as she advanced upon her fallen husband._

"…_How could you…HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?" She screamed, her voice breaking under the intensity._

_She swung down the golf club towards her husband's head, meaning to kill. But, to her frustration, he shouted and pushed himself away at the last moment._

"_Rebecca! Rebecca!" He shouted, frightened but unwilling to harm her, which heightened her wrath to the limits._

"_DIE! DIE!" She swung the club consecutively, tears and saliva drenching her face. Her body wavered, and she cursed._

…_this body is weak…she thought, but was still relentless in pursuit of her husband._

_The man who claimed that he loved her clutched at his wounded leg where she pierced a letter opener into it and tried to get away as fast as he could, but tripped and fell._

_Glee split her face into a wide grin, and, shrieking in blissful revenge and victory, she charged at his fallen figure and aimed for his skull…_

"-AHHHH!" He woke with a scream, shooting up from his bed. Large eyes were wide open as he looked around, wondering what had happened to the crazy woman and her injured husband.

"…Matthew?" A groggy voice snapped him out of his confused state, and he turned, staring at Arthur, still in a shocked stupor.

"Matthew? What's wrong?" Arthur sat up as well, alarmed at how clammy and pale his cousin looked as blank eyes stared into the space before them. He kicked off the bedcovers and rushed to the younger man's side.

"Matthew!" He lightly shook the Canadian's shoulders.

"…she's going to kill him…"

"…What?"

"Oh God Arthur! She's going to kill him!" Matthew cried out, seized by frenzy.

"What are you—calm down, Matthew!"

"No! No you don't understand! She's going to kill him if I don't do anything!" Without a glance back, Matthew scrambled out of his bed and ran towards the door, throwing it open with a loud "bang".

"Matthew!" Arthur was hot on his trail, wincing as he heard the frantic man slamming down on the door adjacent to theirs.

"FRANCIS! ALFRED!" Matthew screamed as he all but kicked. Not waiting for a response, he dashed to another door and brought down his fists; "IVAN! YAO!" When none of the doors opened right away, he pulled at his hair, almost crying out of distress. "Why isn't anyone answering to me?"

Arthur stood in the middle of the hallway in his knickers, not knowing what to do at all except to stare at Matthew wide-eyed and mouth agape.

To his great relief Alfred's door was swung open as the American leapt out, eyes shiny with alertness and apprehension. Francis nudged him aside with a shoulder as he came running out as well, brushing a hand to keep his hair from falling into his eyesight.

"-Francis!" Matthew's eyes locked onto the Frenchman's as soon as he appeared and ran into his arms.

"Hey! I'm supposed to be the hero!" Alfred protested, but all ignored him.

"-Oh Francis! She's going to kill him! _She's going to kill him!_" Hot tears rolled down Matthew's cheeks as hid his face at the crook of Francis' neck, nervous spasms shaking through his body.

"Shhh; shhh Matthieu…it's alright…calm down, _mon amour_…" Francis forced his rising anxiety down and wrapped his arms around the frightened young man, though careful not to touch with his bare hands; "Who do you mean?" He carefully asked.

"Mrs. Moore! Mrs. Moore—Oh God!" Matthew pushed himself back, dread evident on every part of his panicked face.

"Mrs. Moore?" A sleepy Ivan was seen at the door of his room.

"She's—She's—We must find her!" The Canadian wretched himself from Francis' embrace despite of the hurt look flickering across the Frenchman's features, and ran down the hall.

"…What's all this noise? It's four in the morning, aru…"

No one answered Yao's question as Francis rushed down the hall after Matthew, and Arthur, feeling childishly angry at being beaten to it by _Bonnefoy_ of all people, went after them.

"-Wait—what?" Alfred was next, still a little confused.

"…What's going on, aru?" Yao was annoyed at being ill-informed, and gave Ivan a questioning look.

"Running is fun!" The Russian said with a bright smile, and Yao idly wondered why he still had his scarf around his neck; "Let's go too, da!" The tall man cheered and easily propped the Chinese man up over his shoulders like a potato sack and darted after the four before them.

Yao hollered and objected, but was ignored.

~o0o~

Matthew never stopped for a second to think why he knew the hotel as if the backs of his hands. The only thought of saving the couple was urgent enough to occupy his mind with nothing else. Slapping at the elevator call button, the elevator door barely opened before he jumped inside and pressed for the top floor.

He was vaguely aware of a cry of dismay as the door closed and Francis' alarmed face disappeared.

~o0o~

"DAMN IT!" Arthur slammed his fists down onto the closed elevator doors. Francis was heard muttering "_Mon Dieu…_" and rubbing his tired eyes with the heels of his hands.

Alfred caught up a moment later, eyes searching for answers.

"Where'd he go?" He asked as Ivan, still carrying Yao, skipped to a stop beside them.

Arthur pointed at the elevator.

The American looked up and, when the number hit four and stopped moving, gestured to the group.

"Come on! I know where he went!" He pushed open the door to the emergency stairs, and ran up two steps at a time.

They dashed up to the top floor. Not taking a second to allow for a breather, Alfred led the other four to where he knew the Moore family lived and worked on one corner side of the level.

The door leading into Mr. Moore's office was open.

Alfred, always one for a dramatic entry, pushed hard on his feet as he neared the entrance and practically soared through the air into the room.

…This proved to be not very smart as a red-eyed Mrs. Moore just happened to be swinging a golf club down in his direction while Mr. Moore ducked out of the way.

"-OH SHI—" He immediately ducked and saved himself from being bashed on the head.

Francis arrived at the door, and almost toppled over as Arthur crashed into him, running too fast to stop.

Taking one look at the enraged woman, Alfred exclaimed, "She's possessed!"

"Great work, _Einstein_! Anything else_ obvious_?" Arthur retorted, but his eyes were glued to the woman all but foaming at the mouth.

It was always frightening to see a possessed being; for someone so thin and timid like Mrs. Moore to exhibit such…hostility, to say the least, was heartbreaking.

The entity inside the frail woman looked around at the sudden number of newcomers surrounding her, her eyes coming to focus on the Canadian fallen on the floor, nursing a bruised head.

"…_**You**__…I know__** you**__…_" A gruff, deep voice echoed from Mrs. Moore's chest.

Matthew's breath hitched out of fear in his throat as the bloodshot eyes narrowed at him.

A moment of silence was the calm before a storm; suddenly, with an earsplitting scream, the woman charged at the young man scrambling to get out of the way.

The panicking Canadian, feet bare, slipped on the water from a fallen vase on the wooden floor. He fell onto his elbows, moaning in pain, as the woman swung her arms back once more in preparation to crush whatever that was in front of her.

Matthew gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. Curling into a fetal position, he braced for the blow.

But it never came.

At the last moment possible, Francis threw himself forward and tackled the woman in midsection. They fell across the room and onto the large, wooden writing desk.

Everything then all happened at once: the woman shrieked an inhuman screech; Francis gave a nasty spasm, abruptly pulling himself away, and cried out, bare hands shooting up to clench around his head. His face was twisted into an anguished grimace as he fell backwards. He did nothing to break his fall, and dropped onto the floor with a painful thud, golden hair cascading down onto the wooden surface around his head, lips apart in a silent gasp.

Bloodshot eyes glared at the one that tackled her with determined intentions.

Alfred gasped, realizing what it was she wanted to do. Snapping his head to Arthur's direction, he shouted out: "Arthur! Stop her! STOP HER! If she touches Francis again—"

Arthur didn't need to be told; he swung back his right hand as strings of Latin words formed under his breath. His form began to glow most eerily.

Mrs. Moore spread her lips apart with a wheezed, deep breath, and hackles of laughter rang inside the room like thousands of shrill bells in a chorus of discordant notes. Arthur yelped, concentration broken, hands rising to clamp around his ears to block out the sound.

Yao, shaken but clearheaded, ripped a page from a fallen book and grabbed a pen from its case on a nearby shelf. In a practiced scurry, complicated symbols and characters formed and began to emit a golden light.

"IVAN!" He yelled for the Russian man over the blasting storm of noise, whose violet eyes immediately met his in understanding.

Taking the paper from Yao's fingers, the tall man advanced upon the still hysterically laughing woman in two, large strides, and pinned her to the table with a strong hand around her neck.

A vicious glower pierced into Ivan's eyes, but shock was also evident as the man held her down firmly without difficulty despite of her powers rendering the room into complete chaos.

Ivan gave a wide, childlike grin, and his honey-dripped voice spoke few words: "…You don't play fair, and bad children must be punished, da~?"

-And the spell-laced page was slammed down onto her forehead.

Never before had Matthew seen such violent explosions and struggles of energies. Books fell from shelves, which shook. Ripped pages flew about the room most impressively as if in a whirl wind. The scream was almost unending, drilling into the skulls of all who were present and ringing horribly.

And then, suddenly, all was silent.

He blinked, temporarily not comprehending what had just occurred.

A gasped, weeping voice came from the now limp woman, and Ivan carefully led her up from the table. Mrs. Moore's large eyes were no longer bloodshot, but terrified and tear-filled.

Mr. Moore, despite of his injury, rushed to his wife's side and took her into his arms.

At the same time, Matthew crawled towards Francis and pulled him up, cradling his head in his lap.

"…Francis…?" He asked, eyes blurred by tears and voice shaking; "…Francis…?"

Francis did not stir.

"…Francis? Francis!" Tears fell, and screams once again filled the room. "Wake up! Francis! FRANCIS!"

"…please don't yell, Matthieu…" Francis suddenly winced, his eyes blinking open slowly.

"…Francis…you saved my life…" Matthew's voice was small; he tried to catch the Frenchman's unfocused eyes; "…b-but…_why_? You aren't—your hands aren't—you could've-you could've…"

The one still on the floor blinked a few times more before stringing together a mutter, "…It's alright if it is you, _mon amour_…" He gave a weak smile, though it was badly aimed and went to the direction of the wall instead. "…the world spins…please…help me up…" He grimaced once more.

"Oh Francis…!" Matthew sniffled and helped the dizzy man into a sitting position.

Francis carefully spread out his sleeping robe a little, and placed his hands on top of it as to not touch the floor in direct contact.

"…_Je suis désolé_, Francis." The Canadian whimpered, and large drops of tears fell down his face.

"_J'aime quand tu parles français._" The Frenchman smiled, allowing the younger male to nuzzle against him; "…Though…next time, try not to fly off the handle and send all of us into panic, hmm?"

"..._Oui_…" Matthew whispered.

Arthur tore his eyes away from the two sitting on the floor. He was too tired to be irritated with Francis. Walking closer to Alfred, he half-heartedly slapped the taller man on the side of his head; "I thought _you_ were supposed to be the hero."

"_I know!_ It pisses me off that I never get the chance to do anything!" Alfred kicked at a book on the floor close to his feet; Arthur frowned at the mistreatment, but shrugged it off as exhaustion was heavy on his limbs.

"What happened back there, with Wang and Braginski?" The Brit asked.

"Yao's trained in many different things; he's a…what did he call himself…_Do Si_? _Dao Si_? …_Dao…Shi_? Yeah, I think that's it: _Dao Shi_."

Arthur was sure Yao's pronunciation of his profession was better in spades.

"As for Ivan…it's a bit hard to explain…" The American scratched the back of his head.

"I saw him," Arthur turned his eyes to the Russian talking to Yao in a low voice and a soft smile; "Bonnefoy was lucky that he'd only come in contact with Mrs. Moore for a split second. (_'Yeah…I wonder if he saw anything useful' Alfred muttered._ NOTE: Arthur hasn't seen for himself of Francis' abilities yet.) But that Braginski…He could touch the possessed vessel without the entity taking control over his body. Not only that, it was as if…It was as if he didn't get affected by _anything_ that was going on."

"Yeah…" Alfred followed Arthur's eyes to the tall man as well, "Ivan can't be affected by anything supernatural. Not only that, he can physically attack them if he wanted to."

"…What did you just say?" The British man turned to the American, wearing an expression of shock.

"Yep, you heard me," Alfred nodded, "You should've seen him on our last case! _Man_ that was intense! He practically beat the ghost into a pulp with his water faucet!"

"…His _what_?"

"Geez, Arthur, you really need to head back to bed; you can't understand anything I'm saying!" Alfred's round eyes looked over the Londoner's face.

Too lazy to be offended and scold the younger one, Arthur sighed, tilted his head – he really _was_ tired – and rested it on Alfred's shoulder.

Alfred tensed.

"…A-Arthur…?"

"Shut up."

And Alfred did.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Helping Francis onto his bed, Matthew suddenly realized this must've been how Arthur was feeling the night before when Alfred had just gotten burned on the arm. It made him feel even worse for saying all those mean things to Arthur when he returned from dinner with Francis, and, despite of the fact he had apologized, felt a pang of guilt.

Francis took a deep breath, willing his tense body to relax; tilting his head, he could only vaguely see Matthew's face as morning light streamed through the crack between the curtains, creating a halo around the Canadian's head. Lifting one of his hands and trying to reach for his thin, silk gloves, he smiled in gratitude as his smart little strawberry blond easily caught onto his intention and got them for him instead.

"You have to wear gloves even for _sleeping_?" Matthew's eyes widened.

"Not always when I am at home, but it is true that I have less pointless dreams if I wear them. Hotels are tricky…have you ever wondered what happened to the beddings prior to your arrival?" Matthew nodded; "Well, to be honest, I'm not one to wonder." Francis shook his head, chuckling a little; "If one had my ability, one'd have little curiosity."

"…That's…" Matthew furrowed his eyebrows, not knowing how to describe how he was feeling.

"A rather monotonous life?" The Frenchman offered, an amused (Matthew didn't know at what) grin on his face, eyes sparkling lazily in the morning light.

"Francis, I wasn't thinking that!" Matthew murmured, biting his lips in thought; "…You know, life is full of things you can't touch, and full of surprises. Just look at us now, traveling with everyone and doing what most people read in novels or see in movies! …If anything, just being in the same room with Arthur and Alfred is exciting enough, eh?" He gave a weak laugh, wondering if that was a good example to use.

The one lying down hummed, a deep, resonating sound low and soothing; "_…Oui…Tu as raison…_" He mused, before turning his deep eyes to the one caring for him, "Forgive me, Matthieu; I usually don't make light of the situation irresponsibly."

"Oh no, Francis, don't say that either," Matthew shook his head, "You've had a rough night—…ehh…morning…" The younger one scratched the back of his head and gave an awkward laugh. "I should…probably leave you to rest, eh…?"

"I don't think Alfred will allow me much time for rest, or rather, I hope he doesn't. I have some things to tell him; I'm afraid sleep will dull my memory…" Francis shifted his eyes to the ceiling, his expression serious and pensive. "He'd best return soon…"

"They shouldn't be long," Matthew tilted his head towards the door, though he couldn't quite see it from his place, "They just need to make sure Mr. and Mrs. Moore are alright…" He paused, "…Do you think we should get everyone out of the hotel in case something bad happens again?"

"I'm sure Alfred's considering it…"

Francis' voice had not even faded off when a click was heard and the door to the room was opened. Matthew stood up, confusion flickering across his eyes. Alfred was the first to come in; he must have caught the look, for he waved his hand, which held a room card.

"It's one of the master keys; it can open most of the rooms here." The American explained.

Nodding, Matthew sat down on the bed once more.

Arthur came into view next, rubbing his eyes and yawning, not bothering to cover his mouth as he did so. His hair was messier than usual, and, overall, he looked the most disheveled.

It was strange that no one commented on how some of them were still walking around in their underwear.

Ivan was perhaps the most awake of all of them, smiling proudly and almost skipped into the room. Yao followed, brushing his hair back with his thin fingers and tying them with a red string.

"So…What's the plan?" Matthew asked as everyone found places to sit and rest.

"Well, uhhh, in case you guys are wondering, Mr. and Mrs. Moore are alright. We helped take care of their wounds, and they're going to their doctor's first thing in the morning to get looked at just in case. I suggested having everyone out of the hotel since we don't want what happened to repeat. They didn't look like they wanted to do that though, but I convinced them to at least clear it out when we know what we're dealing with and are going to do whatever that's needed to kick some supernatural butt." Alfred had a small smile of confidence on his face, and it reassured everyone's anxious hearts. Even though the American probably, in truth, had no idea what _really_ happened or what was _going_ to happen, it was still nice to see someone so strong in belief they could accomplish what they came here to do.

"Speaking of that, aru," Yao cleared his throat, getting everyone's attention; "I did a little research and found something interesting." He kicked off his shoes (he was the only one sensible enough to remember to wear them before running out the door), and crossed his leg, sitting on Alfred's bed. "Right under our feet used to be a burial ground. A lot of people who committed what were considered as unforgivable crimes were brought here and tied down, aru…and…" Yao tucked a strand of long hair behind his ear, a small frown on his face, "…apparently, there was a legend that a beast would come in the night and take them to the underworld, where they will be punished. I couldn't find too much information on it; it was too long ago and the tradition died out soon after it began, so now it's just a story no one really knows about, aru...I couldn't find out what exactly happened to the criminals the day after they were sent there either…"

"A beast?" Ivan made a small, questioning sound as his eyes looked upwards as a childish habit of thinking, "But that could be a bear, no~?"

"I don't know, aru…"

Matthew suddenly had the image of the Russian dressed up as a bear appear in his head, but quickly shook it away. Francis blinked curiously at him, but did not question as the younger man bit back a laugh.

"Say it's some sort of a magical beastie, what's it doing here?" Alfred drummed his fingers on the bedside table closest to him.

"This place has a door for spirits to pass on through, da~? So the beast gets powers from trapping and eating spirits as well?" Ivan offered helpfully, an eager smile on his pale face.

"How are you sure it eats spirits, aru?"

"It ate people, didn't it?" Ivan tilted his head to the side.

"That's definitely an interesting point," Arthur bit back another yawn and muttered to Alfred asking for coffee, a request to which the American acted upon immediately; "The sheer power of the _being_ judging from tonight's…well, this morning's…err…_demonstrations_…it is safe to conclude it's without a doubt not human, but a monster." The yawn won, and Arthur rubbed at his teary eyes.

Silence filled the room; only sounds of the coffee maker bubbling disturbed it.

"…So, it _is_ a magical beastie…" Alfred whistled, trying to lighten the suddenly dark atmosphere.

"But…why the painting?" Matthew asked in a quiet voice, "If it's that powerful, it doesn't need an object to house the spirits attracted to this place, right? I mean, the spirits are trapped inside the hotel fine. Why does it…insist to be with the painting when it could choose anything, eh?"

"Well, it can't really use a _fridge_," Alfred shrugged, and Matthew felt a tinge of hurt at being brushed aside so carelessly.

"He doesn't mean it like that, _mon chéri_," Francis whispered, reaching over to give Matthew's hand a light squeeze; "Do hold onto that thought; I have a feeling it might be important later on."

Matthew gave the Frenchman a small, appreciative smile, heart beating a little faster as Francis' fingers wrapped around his snuggly.

"Oi, Francis," The American turned to the inclined figure on the bed, "Did you see anything when you tackled wild and red-eyed?"

"Her name was Eileen Boyer."

All eyes turned to the Frenchman, some surprised, and some attentive.

"…How—" Arthur started, but was interrupted.

"Francis see things when he touches people," Alfred gave a brief explanation before turning back to the man on the bed, "What did you find out about her?"

"Not much I'm afraid. She doesn't have much humanity left in her except a will to bring wrath and revenge onto her husband, who betrayed her horribly. There was too much anguish and hatred for me to have seen what you'd want to hear. If the cause to everything that's happened were, in fact, done by a demon, my guess would be she is only used as a puppet with her desire for vengeance as strings, along with the other spirits trapped here causing…_mischief_."

"Then maybe…the painting is a place to put those under its control…like an arsenal?" Matthew wondered out loud. _But something doesn't feel right…_

The coffee maker chose that moment to finish its job, and Alfred hurriedly turned it off. He proceeded to pour two cups, one for himself and one for Arthur, who looked like he was just about to fall over from exhaustion. Before handing the mug to the Brit, he frowned and hesitated; "Maybe you should just head to bed and nap for a bit." He suggested.

Arthur shook his head, "No, I need to do some studying today, especially since we know, to some extent, what we have on our hands."

"We do?" Alfred's eyes widened.

Arthur nodded; "Burial grounds, feasting on human flesh only when it is offered as a sacrifice, having enough smarts to find a spiritual passageway and ingest spirits for strength, possibly obsessively territorial, and using pawns to do its dirty work…quite classic characteristics of a lower-level demon derived from a carnivorous animal such as a wolf or a fox striving for power. They aren't too cunning, so it is usually more straightforward to exorcise them with the right ritual. Now give me that coffee…" He grabbed the mug from Alfred's hands and took a sip, grimacing and giving a retching sound; "_My God_ this tastes _horrid_! Why do you drink this mop water?"

"What did you expect? It's coffee maker coffee…" Alfred pouted, giving his own mug a sniff; "If they tasted super good then there wouldn't be coffee shops."

While the two blonds debated over coffee versus tea, Yao nibbled on his lips and looked quite solemn despite of the fact they'd figured out what had been haunting the grounds.

"Yao?" Ivan tried to catch the Chinese man's eyes, "You should be happy we figured things out, da~?"

"I know, aru…but I keep wondering…does the demon really _need_ puppets to do its work, while it made a big fire all by itself that killed everyone in the asylum years ago?"

"What do you plan to do?" The Russian asked, blinking his large, round eyes curiously.

"I think I'm going to do more research, aru…"

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translation:**

_mon amour_ – my love

_Mon Dieu…_ – My God…

_Je suis désolé_ – I'm sorry

_J'aime quand tu parles français._ – I like it when you speak French. (I have no clue if this is right, but that's what it's supposed to say)

…_Oui…Tu as raison…_– …Yes…You are right…

_mon chéri_ – my dear/my darling

**Ending Notes:** Go Francis! Kudos for saving your poor little Matthieu in distress ;)

Sorry if there wasn't as much Russian ass-whooping as you expected XD But I promise that there will be more upcoming! Also sorry that this is kinda short; I thought this was a good place to seperate this part from the next.

Actual exorcism in the next chapter, where you will see Arthur in action. :D

Donno if it's just me but _man_ I just _love_ Ivan's abilities! I needed something where he can use his water pipe, and this one seemed perfect for it. :D

I made Yao a _Daoshi_ (from Daoism/Taoism). Apparently they did exorcisms in the old days so I thought it'd suit Yao, not to mention they wear kick-ass long flow-y robes (I think there was a segment in the Beijing Olympics opening ceremony where they wore those and was carrying bamboo scrolls and chanting; it looked so cool! I think they had these tall little hats on their heads too; I want to make Yao wear that sometimes LOL) and carry whoosh-y horsehair whisks.

Btw, **I don't drink coffee**, **so I know nothing about coffee-maker-coffee versus store-bought-coffee**, but from what I heard some coffee-maker-coffee can be a little nasty sometimes depending on what brand or whatever you get (not being judgmental or anything, just from what I heard), so just pretend that it just so happened that they stumbled upon a not-so-good one hence Arthur's "mop water" opinion, which will probably stay with him for the next little while LOL

Hope you enjoyed this! Drop me a line; lemme know what you think!

I wonder why Arthur knows what mop water tastes like…Any suggestions? Haha! :D

PS: Other characters will be making their way into the story starting in Case 2, though not _all_ of the Hetalia folks will be included because it'd then become a huge puddle.

And _thanks to Stella Solaris for detailed French work! ;)_


	5. CASE1: Hedgewood Hotel, Part 4

**Author's Notes:** Every time I type "author" I want to type "Arthur" XD

I don't really have anything to say except:

Thank you thank you thank you _thank you_ for the kind words, favourites, subscriptions, and all the support!

Exorcism time! :D

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

Arthur stood, drawing up to his full height, though his heart beat loudly in his ears.

There was always a sense of nervous anxiety before each exorcism no matter how many times one's done it.

Carefully, with a sanitized dagger, he cut across his palm, a line of crimson appearing as blood drops formed. Putting the dagger down onto the makeshift altar that was once a small coffee table, he turned around, walking to the door.

Before his hand touched the wooden surface, he asked in a low voice; "This is your last chance if any of you don't want to witness this. After the room is sealed, there's no leaving until the ritual is done, and nothing is guaranteed to succeed."

When no one moved or spoke, he gave a humourless smirk, though glad his team mates were there for him, and began to paint a symbol onto the door, blood smudging in jagged lines.

"…Maybe we should've disinfected the door too…" Alfred was heard muttering.

As Arthur finished, Yao moved to clean his bloodied palm with alcohol-dabbed cotton pads. The British man hissed in pain but otherwise kept his mouth shut. The Chinese man finished and bandaged up his wound.

Murmuring thanks, he turned to face the painting, and took a deep breath.

Matthew tensed from his position sitting on the bed to the side. The room had been rearranged so that the two beds were against the side walls, giving Arthur plenty of room in the middle to work. All furniture except for the round coffee table, which was now an altar, had been moved outside, along with the equipments.

The hotel was dead silent; everyone had left except for the six occupying room "105".

Francis wrapped an arm around Matthew's shoulders when he noticed the Canadian biting nervously onto his lips. Giving a reassuring smile, the Frenchman turned to whisper into Matthew's ear, "Don't worry; if anything goes wrong, Ivan will intervene."

The Canadian gave a small frown of confusion and looked to the other side of the room, where Ivan stood, face shadowed and eyes shinning in the dark. In his hand, to the young strawberry blonde's great confusion, he held a water pipe connected to a faucet.

Alfred sat cross-legged on the same bed as Francis and Matthew, watching with a serious expression usually not seen on the American's face as Arthur started muttering a chant in what sounded like Latin.

Yao's fingers tightened around the horsehair whisk he held in his hands; its white manes and jade-ornate handle glowed in the curtain-drawn room. He sat on the bed opposite of the three blondes'. His feet were firm against the floor, as if ready to leap from his place in case things turn horribly wrong, which always had a high probability in their profession.

Arthur's voice suddenly rose in volume. Lighting a match, he threw it into a cup of incense, and the herbs went aflame before the fire burnt out, leaving a strange smell in the air and smoke swirling lazily upwards. Taking the cup in his right hand, the Brit stopped chanting and waved it back and forth in front of him over the span of the painting; smoke lingered, forming the same symbol that now marked the door.

He placed the cup down, and, immediately, the floor under him burst out in bright light.

Squinting, Matthew could vaguely make out circular shapes and pentagrams lined with scribbled writings in a language he could not read on the floor as if etched in its surface. In awe, he looked over at Arthur; this was the first time he'd actually seen his cousin at work, and, watching the older man's calm face staring intently at the painting three steps in front of him, the Canadian felt a wave of admiration in his heart.

Abruptly, the light dimmed, and the painting began to shake.

A rattling sound filled the room, and the Canadian could not find its source. It was as if it came from every corner and crevice of the enclosed space. The air suddenly turned cold; Matthew could see clouds forming before his lips as he uttered a breath.

Scooting closer to Francis, he wrapped his arms around the taller man's torso, eyes never leaving his cousin's figure for one second.

The rattling sound grew in volume; Arthur fought to keep his concentration. Shadows began to creep from dark corners in every direction. Ivan looked down as they circled around his feet, and he casually walked out of them, the water pipe glinting as it caught the light emitted from Arthur's ritual.

All of a sudden, as abruptly as it came, the painting stopped shaking and the rattling stopped.

A painfully tense silence filled the room; every one of its occupants still and waiting, anticipating the next move.

A wail rang out of the painting, small and muffled at first, but grew more distinct and louder at an alarmingly rapid speed. The whole room began to shift and shake. Fingers clenching around Francis' expensive shirt, Matthew cried out as the bed under him started clattering and shaking violently.

Shadows leapt out of the corners, growling and hissing in unison. They charged towards Matthew, and the Canadian could barely gasp from the cold fear overtaking his body.

Francis cursed in French under his breath, and pulled the smaller man closer, ready for impact as the menacing shapes strike down upon them.

A whooshing sound was almost unheard as a flash of white clashed against the shadows, and shrieks of pain rebounded inside the room, getting louder and louder. Yao stood on his feet, swinging the horsehair whisk with a grace contrasting rather oddly with the situation. Softly grunting, the slender man swept the white weapon around, eyes glittering and focused, hitting the flying dark shapes with an accuracy Matthew thought was impossible with the given speed in which the shapes traveled.

However, as forcefully as Yao hit them, the shapes kept reappearing again and again.

"It's no use, aru!" Yao shouted over the various ear-shattering noises crowding the room, "They can't be destroyed!"

Before Yao's voice even dropped, a particularly loud shriek pierced through the thunderstorm of sounds. Everyone, including Arthur, who was startled, flung their faces towards the direction of the scream, and saw Ivan, smiling in a delighted manner, his water pipe driven through and into a shadow as it writhed under him in pain, a nasty, sizzling sound accompanying its screeches as it slowly disintegrated into the floor and disappeared.

"_I got one~~_" His childlike voice sang, followed by pleased laughter.

Matthew couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive of the tall man, however, at the same time, was extremely glad Ivan was on their side.

The "death" of the shadowy shape seemed to anger the entity inside the painting, for the wail stopped, and everyone could practically see its fury bubbling out from behind the canvas. A low growl resonated between the walls. Matthew whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut; it was as if the sound came from inside his skull, giving him an excruciating headache.

He wasn't the only one feeling the sensation; Arthur swore, his hands shooting up to cover his ears as his body shook violently.

Yao followed suit, his horsehair whisk falling to the floor with a clank, moaning in pain and falling to his knees. Ivan immediately went forward and caught him, looking around for the source of the sound, while he remained unaffected.

Francis, jaws clenched and eyes shut, hugged the Canadian closer against his chest. The pain compounded into something unbearable, and he cried out, quickly muffling it as he gritted his teeth together, one hand forcefully covering one of his ears, while his other arm remained wrapped around Mathew's shivering frame.

"Where the hell is it coming from?" Alfred's voice could be heard, hollering in frustration. Matthew was vaguely aware of his figure, standing up and amongst the havoc, eyes searching wildly, for what Matthew did not know, his hands against his ears. "Arthur? ARTHUR!"

"…The dagger! Stab the painting with the dagger!" Arthur's voice was small, but clear.

The American, in two large strides, grabbed the dagger from the altar and swung it down onto the painting with as much strength as he could muster.

Suddenly the growling sound migrated towards the painting, regrouping into one being and refocusing as an explosion of broken rumbles.

"IT'S COMING!" Arthur shouted out, shaking his still throbbing head and forcing himself to concentrate. Quick to muttering enchantments, his body was enveloped in light as his robes began to float out behind him as if carried by a rising gush of air.

A split second of pending silence was broken as a hurricane of angry screams and shadows burst out of the painting. It blasted straight against Arthur, who was pushed back by brute force and cried out before crashing into the wall far behind him.

He fell to the floor in a heap, and Alfred immediately ran towards him, tugging him up by the arms. The dagger, which was lodged into the painting, flew from its place along with the sudden burst of energy and bounced off the closet side wall.

"Arthur! Are you okay?" The American, for the first time since Matthew had known him, looked positively scared.

"…Do I bloody look okay to you?" Arthur grunted, lifting his face up, one hand clutching the fabrics on top of his chest. His head was ringing from the forceful impact as it hit the wall; the world was spinning, and his heart was thumping hard against his ribcage.

He reached with a shaky hand, gingerly touching the back of his head where it hurt the most. It felt wet, matted hair. He brought his hand before him for examination, and saw his fingers covered with dark liquid. A metallic scent reached his nose, and he cursed.

"You're hurt!" Alfred exclaimed, eyes widening as he stared at Arthur's bloodied hand.

"No shit, Einstein…" The Brit tried to give a sarcastic laugh, but ended up groaning in pain instead.

"We have to stop; this is enough for today." Alfred swallowed, glancing up at the heavy curtains of shadows swimming around the painting, as if challenging any brave soul to try to advance upon it.

"Yao, check his wound," The American helped the Brit up onto his feet, eyes catching that of Yao's, who was leaning against Ivan, looking a little pale.

"Did you not hear me when I warned you at the beginning, you idiot? No one can get out of this room unless I close the ritual," Arthur sent a glowering glare at the black mass still hovering around the painting; "It caught me by surprise, that's all; it won't happen again." He nudged Alfred away and stumbled before catching himself. Muttering under his breath of spells he knew as well as the backs of his hands, he blinked his eyes, trying to clear his fuzzy vision.

The black heap of swirling shadows floated about in the air almost gleefully as it noticed Arthur approaching.

"-Arthur! Don't!" Matthew cried out in warning, but it was cut off as another surge of great, dark energy shot out of the painting towards the British man.

Better prepared this time, Arthur shouted out a string of blurred words and swung his arms in front of him in defense. The surge of energy deflected and hit the walls, a big, booming sound shaking the hotel building.

Bending down to retrieve the dagger, he put all his thoughts and power onto the demon dwelling behind the canvas. His eyes set to kill, he saw nothing else as he deflected more of attacks aimed to cut into his flesh, and put all of his remaining strength into getting closer to his goal.

Matthew watched, eyes unblinking, as his cousin grew closer and closer to the painting, and, suddenly, at the corner of his eyes, he saw something glint sharply.

It was a shard from the stone cup; no one noticed it shattering as Arthur flew across the room. It lingered in the air, and, gasping in dismay, the Canadian followed its aim to his cousin's head.

"-ARTHUR WATH OUT!" Matthew pushed off from the bed and Francis' embrace, racing against the odds as the shard gave a quiver and shot towards the British sorcerer, who was completely unaware of its purpose to harm him.

The sharp piece from the cup flew past his ears, Matthew, eyes widening in alarm, did the only thing he could think of.

He jumped in the air and pushed his cousin onto the floor, the shard scraping against his cheek as it missed them both, hitting a wall instead and getting lodged into it. He winced in pain, fingers rubbing the small cut on his face, but sighed in relief as Arthur groaned in pain under him, slowly propping himself up onto his elbows.

Quickly getting up onto his feet, the Canadian smiled, but it was short-lived as the painting shook and fell onto the floor beside his feet.

A black, burned hand shot out from within in, and its claw-like fingers snapped a relentless grip onto Matthew's ankle.

Before the youngest blonde even had time to gasp in surprise, a surge of blue flames enveloped him completely.

~o0o0o0o0o~

It took Matthew a few moments to realize the blood-hurling screams of pain were emitted from his lips.

His shirt and pants caught fire in a blink of an eye, and he could only shield his face with his arms as flames burned his skin mercilessly.

"MATTHEW! MATTHEW!" Arthur scrambled to get onto his feet, but his legs were shaking so badly it was practically impossible. Angry and terrified tears washed down his face in an instance as he screamed curses at himself and his unresponsive body.

The young man struggled in the fire, pulling with all his strength to get out of the strong hold on his ankle as shrill, agonized cries left his opened lips.

A head emerged from the painting as well. With half of her face burnt, a woman leered at the Canadian, eyes dancing with triumph.

"-MATTHIEU!" Francis rushed from the bed, but was forcefully pushed back by a large hand.

Ivan, violet eyes shinning ominously and expression uncannily blank and frightening, brought his hands up as they wrapped around the faucet of his water pipe, and slammed it down into the head of the grinning, burnt woman.

A screech louder than Matthew's shrieks of pain erupted, and, as sudden as it came, the flames combusted into nothing with a huge explosion, along with the woman's body parts.

Matthew fell, and Francis leapt forward with arms outstretched. He caught the Canadian before he could slump down onto the floor.

The air suddenly felt significantly lighter.

"…Is…Is it done...?" Alfred's voice was tight as if he was trying to keep it steady.

"No," Ivan answered, "There is nothing in the painting now, but it's not finished yet." Turning to the rest of the group, he suggested, "We should take a rest, da~?" He gave a smile, but it was different than his usual childish ones; instead, it was heavy and on edge.

Lifting Matthew up bridal style, Francis left the room without a word, his expression overcast and unnaturally taut.

The door swung, half off its hinges as no magic kept it in place any longer. The Frenchman gave it a nudge and it fell, a loud thud startling all.

The sound seemed to snap Arthur out of his stunned state, and, bringing his horribly shaking hands to his face, he whispered: "…I almost killed him…I almost killed Matthew with my carelessness…"

Alfred was immediately by his side, noticing telltale signs of a nervous breakdown.

His intuition had been right, for only moments after, Arthur was doubled over as heaves of tears fell from his eyes as he wept, voice broken, in guilt and relief.

Yao, rubbing his face, took his horsehair whisk from its fallen place and walked out of the room on unsteady legs, tugging Ivan behind him to leave the two huddled on the floor alone.

"Shhhhh…Arthur…it wasn't your fault…_it wasn't your fault_…" Alfred spoke it like a mantra as he rocked Arthur back and forth in his arms, scenes of recent events and thoughts reeling inside his mind in an unending buzz.

~o0o0o0o0o~

_He was in a white, padded room._

_His arms were bound behind him, uncomfortably tightly and unforgiving._

_He struggled, fear constant in his heart._

_He whimpered, the sound echoing between the walls of the small, enclosed space, paranoia causing him to believe them to be from elsewhere, and his wild eyes flickered, trying to find where they had come from._

_He was so frightened…so frightened…and unbound hate spread through his thoughts quicker than a plague._

_He will make him suffer…make him suffer…make him suffer for what he did…_

…_make him suffer…_

…

His eyes slowly opened.

He did not know where he was.

His mouth felt dry, and he tried to speak, but his voice only came out as a rasp.

Arms were wrapped around his body loosely, but securely.

He turned his head, and saw a peacefully sleeping face less than inches from his own.

Francis' breaths were even and deep. His lips were slightly apart, and Matthew felt a desire to kiss them.

Turning his gaze down, he blinked as he noticed bandages all over his arms. Now that he was once again aware of his body, he realized that his legs were wrapped too. They ached, but it was not severe.

Lifting a hand to feel around his face, he found a large band-aid on one of his cheeks.

…_exorcism…painting…fire…pain…_

He gave a shudder, and heard a groan and felt movement from the body beside his.

A murmur of French reached his ears, and he shifted so that he faced the man trying to nuzzle closer to him.

"…Francis…?" He winced at how scratchy his voice sounded.

One of Francis' eyes fluttered open. "…Matthieu! You are awake!" The other eye opened as well as a relieved, happy smile appeared on Francis' face. The Frenchman moved and propped himself up onto one of his elbows, eyes sparkling and beaming in joy at the still confused Canadian. "How are you feeling, _mon chéri_?" He asked, voice smooth and soft.

"…Thirsty…" Matthew managed to croak out, and immediately, Francis, sitting up, turned and grabbed onto a glass of water on the bedside table. Handing it to the smaller male, he watched as Matthew sat up as well and gulped it down at once.

Sighing and feeling a lot better, the strawberry blonde looked around the room. "…Where is everyone? How long was I asleep for?"

"They are in another room," Francis gently brushed a strand of hair from Matthew's face, expression tender and affectionate, "You've slept for almost two days, Matthieu. You had everyone worried."

"I'm sor—"

"-_Non, non_…" Francis shook his head, hair falling from behind his ears, shimmering in the little light in the room, and kissed Matthew on both cheeks, carefully avoiding the band-aided part; "I didn't mean it like that; everyone is eagerly wishing for you to get better. We should let them know that you've woken up, hmmm?"

Matthew secretly wanted to spend a few more minutes alone with Francis, but thought that was probably selfish of him, considering how worried the others were. He nodded, and settled back down onto the bed as the older male took the empty glass from his hands.

Listening to Francis' murmur to the phone was almost hypnotic, but the peaceful silence in the room was abruptly broken as the door was flung open and Arthur ran in, green eyes shinning and wide, locking onto Matthew's as though they could not believe what they saw.

Yao and Ivan came in next, smiling and breathing a sigh of relief as they saw the Canadian blinking and conscious.

Alfred made it through the door last, which was clearly due to the large bowl of steaming instant noodles he held in his hands. Slurping a mouthful down, he exclaimed with sparkling, round eyes:

"Matthew! You're awake!"

Matthew nodded, smiling back, blushing a little at the number of beaming eyes looking fondly at him.

He looked across the four new arrivals, stopping at Arthur, who still did not show any signs of reaction and only stared.

The others watched as the two cousins held each other's eyes.

Matthew broke into a small, shy grin, and said, in a small voice, "…I'm back, Arthur."

It was as if his voice broke a spell; Arthur's lips started to quiver, and, fresh tears spilling from his wide eyes, he spluttered into sobs. His face became flushed as he rubbed at his eyes, feeling embarrassed at himself.

Matthew was taken back; "…A-Arthur? Don't cry, ehh…? It's okay; I'm okay now…"

"I-I know but…I was…I was so_ worried_…" Muttering under his breath about being a pathetic sop, he tried to stifle his sniffles.

"Awwww, it's okay, Arthur," Alfred said through a mouthful, "Here, have some of my noodles; that'd ought to make you feel better!"

"…I don't want your mop-water noodles!" Arthur retorted back.

"They don't taste like coffee, I swear to God!" The American frowned, sniffing at his bowl; "It's just boiled water. I washed the coffee maker _twice_ before using it just for _you_!"

"You don't taste it because your taste buds have already deteriorated due to all that coffee you drink all the time!"

"Geez, Arthur, why'd you have to be such a demanding priss all the time?" Alfred turned his attention away from the Brit's "_-I-I beg your pardon?_" and motioned his bowl at the Canadian propped up by pillows on the bed, "Do you want some? They're pretty good, though not as good as burgers." At that Yao rolled his eyes, muttering about having to eat greasy burgers for an entire day and practically hearing his blood pressure rise.

"He doesn't need your stupid noodles!" Arthur pressed his lips into a disapproving thin line, hands on his hips, "_I_'ll cook him something _healthy_."

"_You_ plan to cook after what happened yesterday?" Francis cut in, grimacing and shuddering at the memories of Arthur's self-claimed "edible" inventions; "The only greater disaster than your food is your eyebrows."

Shocked silence hung in the room as Arthur's face turned three different shades of red.

"…F-Francis!" Matthew resembled a goldfish as he exclaimed, astonished that Francis was daring, or foolish, enough to say such a thing.

"…Why you impudent, pansy son of a—" Arthur made to rush forward but was restrained by a smiling Russian.

"-What a great idea, aru!" Yao interrupted, not wanting to listen to another violent argument, "Why don't you and I go shop for some healthy food, Arthur? Ivan can come too, aru!" He gave Ivan a meaningful glance before leaving the room.

"Healthy food sounds good, da~? Especially after Alfred's nasty burgers~~" The Russian spoke over Arthur's head in a singsong voice and dragged the still struggling Englishman towards the door, following after Yao.

"My burgers aren't nasty!" Alfred pouted.

"Make sure to get what is actually _edible_, _s'il vous plaît_." Francis brushed a hand through his silky, golden hair, lips tilted in an amused smirk towards the fuming Brit.

"-Take your French and shove it up your—"

"-We'll be going now! Good bye, aru!" The door was shut. The room was instantly quieter, though muffled sounds of Arthur hurling swearwords could still be heard.

Matthew sighed, sending a displeased look to Francis; "You didn't have to say that about his cooking and eyebrows, eh? He's very sensitive about that."

"But Matthieu," Francis made a pitiful face and pulled a sad, hurt expression, "You have no idea what he made us eat yesterday!" He squeezed his eyes shut and swung his head sideways, biting his lips, long hair flopping around his face; "_C'était la torture, Matthieu!_" He whined.

The Canadian, trying to remain looking displeased, couldn't help but laugh at the Frenchman's antics.

"Still, you have to apologize to Arthur when he comes back, eh?"

"_Non! Il est épeurant avec ses sourcils de monstre!"_ Francis looked positively appalled and, shaking his head, nuzzled his face into the crook between Matthew's neck and shoulder; "_…Cela pourrait être contagieux aussi…._" He murmured in a small voice.

Matthew, who did not understand past the point of "_Non_", blinked, temporarily surprised as the older man suddenly nestled against him.

"Uhhh…I'll leave the two of you alone now…" Alfred, holding his noodles, turned stiffly on his feet and left the room.

"…Francis?" Matthew broke the comfortable silence that settled after Alfred had left.

"_Oui, mon ange?_"

"…Do you think…Do you think we can complete this case…?"

Francis lifted his head up; leaning back slightly, he tilted his face, trying to catch Matthew's downcast eyes.

"I mean…" Matthew twiddled with his thumbs, "The exorcism…was a big failure…wasn't it…?"

Francis didn't reply right away. Instead, he studied the smaller man's expressions with a soft gaze, and inquired in a soft voice: "…Are you frightened, Matthieu?"

Matthew's hands jerked a little as they clenched together. His right arm throbbed a little under the bandages, and he nodded.

Francis sighed, a smile of understanding ghosting across his handsome features. He wrapped his arms around the Canadian, who scooted closer and rested his head on the Frenchman's shoulder.

"_Mon chéri_," Francis began, voice only slightly above a whisper and soothing to the ears, "Everyone is frightened. You did not see the extent to which Alfred had gone to…just to snap your cousin out of his fear-filled hysterics."

"…Arthur was scared…?"

"…Deathly." Francis' smile dropped a little, though he tried to keep it from falling completely; "All of us were…except for perhaps Alfred, but not everyone is a hero."

Matthew sunk into contemplative silence, and Francis allowed him to sort through his thoughts.

After a little while, the Canadian spoke up again; "Why did you choose to do this, Francis? To join Alfred's agency? I mean…You can easily find a job doing something else, eh?" _...like being a model or opening a high-class French restaurant…_Matthew finished in his head.

Francis hummed; "…That is true; I could've chosen another profession. But I won't do that."

"…Why not?" The strawberry blonde looked up, eyes round and sparkling like precious stones.

Francis was momentarily distracted, a blush warming his cheeks.

…_Because I wouldn't have met you if it weren't for this…_

Quickly shaking the flustered feeling away, he gave an encouraging smile. "Because _someone_ must do what we do, and no one else _can_ do what we do."

They remained still, in each other's arms, eyes locked, unable to look away, captivated by each other.

Matthew nodded. Blushing, he shifted his eyes away and rested his head down onto Francis' shoulder once more.

Another comfortable silence hung about the room.

"…You know…we aren't actually…well…you know…officially together yet…" Matthew muttered, face red like a tomato.

Francis chuckled, amusement shimmering in his ocean-blue eyes.

"Of course, Matthieu; of course."

"…so…this is just…you know…friends comforting each other, eh…? Since we've met not long ago…I mean, under normal circumstances…we wouldn't do this…eh?"

"…Certainly not, _mon amour._" Matthew didn't bother commenting on how contradictory Francis' answer was, and sighed in comfort.

"…_Merci_…"

Francis, a content smile on his face, turned to the side and kissed Matthew on the top of his head.

To that the Canadian gave a shy smile, and closed his eyes.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

_mon chéri _– my dear/my darling

_s'il vous plaît_– please (In this instance Francis is addressing Arthur, Yao, and Ivan, so I thought it'd probably be plural form? This is why it's not "s'il _te_ _plaît_". Please let me know if it's wrong XD)

_C'était la torture, Matthieu!_ – It was torture, Matthieu!

_Non! Il est épeurant avec ses sourcils de monstre! …Cela pourrait être contagieux aussi…_– No! He is frightening with his monster eyebrows! …It could be contagious too…

**Ending Notes:**

Awww, poor, frightened Matthew - but it's not so bad when there's Francis comforting you, eh? ;p

Tell me whatcha think! And please correct my French if there's anything awkward about it! :D

Reviews make rainbows in my days!

Oh, by the way, I love creepy Ivan.


	6. CASE1: Hedgewood Hotel, Part 5

**Author's Notes:** Sorry for the long wait; hopefully this chapter will suffice in making up for that.

**Major thanks to all your support!** I bet y'all are gettin' tired of hearin' me say 'thanks' all the time, but guess what, I'M GONNA KEEP ON SAYIN' IT! :D

'Cause I love you guys, seriously.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

Munching on an apple, Matthew was glad Yao had suggested shopping for food. Upon their return, Arthur had not only calmed down, but was actually in a good mood. He found a good, small café and treated Yao and Ivan to late afternoon tea. He still glared at Francis whenever the Frenchman talked, but had kept his mouth shut in favour of a peaceful meal.

Yao finished eating quickly, and left for his room with a thoughtful expression; "I need to double check with some things, aru."

Ivan, large eyes following the Chinese man as he left through the door, was the next to follow after shoving down his whole plate of salad down at once. Grabbing the small bottle of vodka he purchased on the shopping trip, he gave a happy wave at the rest of the team: "I'm going to help Yao, da~~" And skipped out of the door.

Only four blondes were left inside the room.

"It's nice to have home-made burgers sometimes!" Alfred said, whistling a happy tune as he made one; "This should be considered as an art!" He held up the burger and presented as if it were a trophy, a joyful grin wide on his cheerful face.

"Culinary_ is_ an art, however, the sheer size of your burgers can hardly make up for their lack of artistic value," Francis' smooth voice glided over from his place by the window as he twirled a glass of wine in his fingers.

"Shut up, Francis," Alfred spoke through a mouthful, though his voice held no offense; "I was really trying to be creative you know. I even cut the tomatoes _really_ carefully!"

Looking at the big mess on the table from Alfred's "careful" cutting, Francis quirked up an eyebrow, which caused a growl from Arthur's direction. Hearing the growl, Francis sent the glaring Brit a wink and raised his glass; "_Merci beaucoup pour le vin, monsieur Kirkland._" He then took a sip as though a toast.

"Didn't I tell you to take your French and shove it up you—"

"What prompted you to buy the wine, Arthur?" Matthew cut in, in no desire to hear about anything being shoved up Francis' butt.

"Well, while we were at the liquor store for Braginski's vodka, I thought _anything_ was better than that horrid American mop-water so—"

"For the_ last time_, Arthur, for _God's sakes_, it is _coffee maker _coffee! I'll-" Alfred turned and waved his hands in exasperation, "-I'll treat you _proper coffee_ when we get back to New York, alright?"

Arthur did not reply right away. To Matthew's amazement, he blushed and looked away.

Alfred was equally as amazed as the Canadian; "…Arthur?"

Arthur was fiddling with his sleeves. Not looking at the American directly in the eyes, he muttered, "So…is this…is this a…a date…?"

There was a slightly awkward silence as Alfred's eyes grew round. He forced down his mouthful of burger and sat up straighter, absentmindedly flattening his mildly wrinkled shirt.

"…Uhhh…well…" Alfred cleared his throat, looking a little red in the face as well, "Do you…do you want it to be?" He asked, stealing a few glances at Arthur.

"…I—I…N-No! Who'd-Who'd want to go on a—…a date with-with _you_?" The Englishman suddenly found the wall in front of him extremely interesting and studied it with a passion.

"Oh! ...I-I guess…Haha…" Alfred gave a weak laugh, rubbing the back of his head, looking disappointed, "Yeah…who'd want to go out with me…" His voice trailed off.

Francis rolled his eyes. _Honestly_, he could teach these idiots a thing or two about _l'amour_…

Arthur, trying to discreetly take a few peeks at Alfred's expressions, was taken back that the American had given up so quickly. Mumbling about unreliable heroes and fighting another flush of heated feelings from his cheeks, he gave a dry cough, and spoke in a louder voice, "You…You're still going to…going to take me, correct? After all…you aren't going to…go back on your word, are you, Alfred?"

The American blinked, eyes widening. He turned his head towards the British man, a look of complete surprise on his face. "You…You didn't call me names!" He said, astonished.

"Don't be ridiculous." Arthur gave a stiff sniff. "'_Alfred_' also happens to be a _name_."

"…Y-Yeah!" Alfred exclaimed, grinning at the green-eyed one.

Arthur blinked, confused; "…I beg your—"

"I mean, no!" Alfred shook his head.

Arthur stared, unmoving and confused.

"I mean—" Alfred gave a laugh, "Yes! I will take you to coffee! And no I will _not_ go back on my word! Of course I won't go back on my word! What kind of a hero would I be if I can't even keep promises?" He flashed Arthur a thumb up.

The Londoner tried to give a scoffing snort, but ended up smiling and looking embarrassed. He rubbed his nose, as if not knowing how to act in the current situation. He shifted on his bottom sitting on the bed, and, despite his best efforts, failed miserably trying not to give a crooked grin of happiness.

At the adorable show of events, Matthew muffled amused laughter, turning his face away so that his cousin wouldn't see him biting his lips. His eyes found their way to Francis, who wiggled his eyebrows.

The dam broke, and the Canadian burst out into giggles, falling over onto the bed he sat on.

He really didn't understand why it was so funny, but he couldn't stop laughing.

Watching the strawberry blonde clench his stomach and shake from laughter, Francis felt a rising urge to join in.

Alfred and Arthur watched Matthew with round eyes, not knowing whether to be angry that they were being laughed at or entertained at how the Canadian started rolling back and forth on the bed.

"Oh God…_Oh God!_" Wiping traces of tears from his eyes, the youngest of the group tried to calm himself. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, his fingers loosened around his half-eaten apple.

The semi-circular fruit fell from his hands, and, yelping to catch it, he managed to grab at it a few times, making it jump in the air, before it dropped to the floor, rolling away and wobbling.

A loud gasp of dismay left Matthew's lips as he gazed longingly and sadly at his apple.

There was a moment of silence before Francis suddenly spluttered into laughter, the hand not holding his glass of wine shooting up to cover his squeezed shut eyes.

The other three stared; it wasn't often the Frenchman exhibited emotions in such a blatant way.

Stomach starting to hurt, Francis tried to stop himself, a little embarrassed as he was the only one laughing in the room. However, as he took a breath, the momentum of his laughing had not stopped and caused a most inelegant snort to sound from his nose.

Eyes flying open, his spare hand shot to his mouth and nose, slapping down to cover them as crimson stained his face. Francis wore the most exaggerated expression of shock as he could not believe he had just…_snorted_! His back was rigid; his ears heated in humiliation as he faced the other occupants in the room.

He was horrified.

Three pairs of eyes were just as stunned looking at him.

"…PPPPFFFAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!" Arthur fell onto his back, pointing a finger at the priceless expression on the Frenchman's face. He rolled to his side on the bed, a fist pounding onto the mattress several times before pointing again; "_Did you hear that?_" He imitated the snort before laughter overwhelmed him once more.

Alfred and Matthew looked at each other. Matthew gave a giggle, and the American joined the Brit in loud expressions of hilarity.

Arthur turned once more onto his back, gasping for air but never stopping long enough for a proper breath as the snort accompanied by Francis' horrified face kept on playing inside his head.

Matthew was almost doubled over as he rubbed at his stomach, trying to alleviate some of the cramps as he shook in tremendous amusement.

Francis, at first, felt as though he could've died, but, looking over at the room full of laughing blondes, felt his lips quivering in an intense desire to join them.

A few minutes later, Yao and Ivan came back into the room, blinking in confusion at the bizarre scene in front of them as the four fought to stop laughing but failed each time they tried.

~o0o0o0o0o~

When the four blondes finally calmed down, Yao set down a stack of papers in front of him, standing over his team, and addressed the curious men watching him attentively.

"I found something very interesting, aru," Yao started, "-as I looked over the painting." He took out a photograph that showed a magnified corner of the canvas, where a scratched, almost nonexistent signature was; "It was hard to make out what it said, aru, but if you look closely enough, you'd be able to read it."

"You could've asked me to help you," Francis murmured, his glass of wine sitting, temporarily forgotten, beside him.

"I thought I could figure it out, aru, and it might be dangerous since there still might be lingering energy inside it," Yao explained, "It's just scribbled italic writing really, and it says 'Richard Boyer', aru…"

Francis' eyes lit up in recognition, though his eyebrows furrowed slightly; "Boyer?"

"Yes, Eileen, the woman who possessed Mrs. Moore, shares the same last name. When I looked into it, I found out that she was actually married to Richard Boyer, aru…Richard wasn't exceptionally talented or a well-known painter, but he sold quite a few paintings around town before he moved a few months after the asylum fire."

"_Wasn't?_" Ivan blinked.

"He died a few years ago, aru. And I think there might be more to this than we thought…"

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked, leaning forward in a keen manner.

"After looking through big events that happened here, I found a pattern, aru: a number of accidents that ended a lot of lives occurred here, with the biggest event being the asylum fire. Strange thing I noticed was that there was nothing else, aru, meaning, there were no disappearances of higher-power-spirits who took form of humans to blend in and pass on to the afterlife peacefully, and no cases of actual human possession. So why would it possess Mrs. Moore and a painting?

"Since it is known now that the demon intakes spirits to gain strength, it would _not_ make sense for it to create pawns when it does _not_ need them, because its objective is not to create trouble but to grow more powerful and keep its territory, so why would it do something that would divide its powers when it is only an option?"

"Making pawns is a classic characteristic of a lower-level animal demon—" Arthur said, eyes pensive.

"Yes it is," Yao answered quickly, "But the demon has a choice to make them or not, aru. What purpose would the pawns serve when it could easily make tragedies happen by itself on a large scale, aru?

"But, assuming the demon ate all the souls of the people that died here, why would Eileen Boyer be so special and singled out to use as a pawn? It does not make sense, aru…unless…somehow…Eileen Boyer's will was strong enough to overcome that of the demon's altogether…?"

A thoughtful silence fell over the team, the new development and direction feeling strangely likely, though a similar case had never been reported before.

_Really…a human overpowering the will of a demon…_They all thought, but, deep down, their hearts thumped loudly in apprehension at such a possibility.

"Going back to the painting, its painter, Richard Boyer, happens to be Eileen's husband, and it is being used to hold the pawns used. Isn't it too much of a coincidence to have no significance, aru?" Yao turned his body slightly and locked eyes with the Canadian, motioning a little in the strawberry blonde's direction; "Now that Matthew is injured after many obvious attempts at harming him during the last exorcism, it was as if Mrs. Moore had been used as bait to also find an opportunity to hurt Matthew, but it just didn't work out, aru. Now, why would Matthew be singled out amongst all of us?" There was only silence as Yao paused; "While Matthew can see into things no one else could, he isn't really a direct threat to the demon. If anyone, it should be Arthur or myself, or even Ivan, to be targeted because we are people who can actually harm the demon directly. So why is Matthew targeted? Alfred also got burnt when he tried to move the painting, which would expose, or at least, point suspicion to Eileen Boyer's direction, aru.

"Eileen Boyer died tragically, so she is bound to the place of her death, meaning she cannot leave here to actually act out her revenge; but, if she had enough power, say, the power of a fully grown demon, she might be able to, aru…though it has never been done before, there is still a possibility. But the demon getting more powerful is not the only thing happening, aru: pawns are being made as well. It would make sense to most _people_ to have a backup plan in case the primary one fails; if Eileen still cannot leave the ground on which she died after the demon's fully grown, she can harvest the pawns and use the demon's powers to send them to do her work…That is a lot of strategic thinking for a lower-level animal demon if Eileen had simply made a deal with it; there wouldn't be so many twists and turns. The demon can easily curse Richard Boyer and not make a group of puppets to do it, which increases the probability that Eileen is in control, but does not fully understand the demon's power, aru…"

Yao waited patiently for a response as the information sunk in. Seeing Matthew scratching absentmindedly at his bandaged arm, Yao mused in a soft voice; "…That only happened because she thinks you can see into her plans, aru…with her wandering on the loose, we should probably have someone with you at all times."

Francis looked over at Matthew, worried, but he was not the only one.

Eventually, all eyes fell on him, and, feeling a little nervous and self-conscious, he quickly questioned; "…So…we've been doing the wrong exorcism?"

Yao nodded. "Yes…all we need to do is convince the woman to pass on, aru; afterwards there shouldn't be a problem when Arthur does his ritual again."

Arthur almost looked a little wary of doing the ritual again, thinking back to what happened last time. But, being a true professional and proud of his work, he sat up straighter and nodded with a solemn expression.

"How d'you s'pose we convince her to move on?" Alfred leaned back, resting against the headboard of his bed, "I don't think she'd be very happy to hear she can't really take revenge on her husband 'cause he's dead already."

"_Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned_…She'd probably blame whoever that's nearest for his death too; she's hardly logical now…" Arthur sighed, brushing a hand through his already unruly hair; "Have you found out anything else about her that might be useful to us?" He looked expectantly at Yao.

Yao hummed, shuffling through his heap of research and pulling out a thin stack of papers stapled together. Flipping through it, he made a small noise as he found what he was looking for.

"She was checked into the asylum, or, rather, was forced into it by her husband, aru…but it might not have been what reasons she believed it was due to," The Chinese man turned his dark eyes to the Frenchman, "She believed he betrayed her, right?"

"Horribly, yes," Francis answered, "She still believes that."

"And, according to her files—"

"You got her medical files?" Matthew's eyes widened, "Is that legal?"

"We pulled a few strings, but no one _actually_ cares about them anymore, aru."

"Poor woman and her crazy friends," Alfred frowned, "What did the files say?"

"They said a lot of things, but, in short, she was a schizophrenic."

"_Great_, now we have an angry woman who's gone nutters with all the powers of a demon at her fingertips…" Alfred sighed, rubbing his face with his hands, suddenly sounding tired. "How're we s'posed to talk to someone like _that_?"

"Wait a minute…" Francis shifted, a wondering glint in his eyes, "If she was..._ill_ before she passed away, might her beliefs and perceptions remain distorted? I'm not one too familiar with psychological disorders, but schizophrenia can lead to delusions, _non_?"

"…It _is_ often said that spirits remain how they died…" Arthur answered, though it was more of a mutter to himself.

"Oh this just keeps gettin' better and better…" Alfred groaned, "And I thought I'd have a chance to actually do _something_ before this whole thing's finished. Well, I'm beat! I have no clue how to talk to this woman; I'm not really a man of speech, you know."

"I'm surprised you are actually aware of that," Arthur sent the American a pointed glance, to which the younger blonde uttered a "Hey!" indignantly.

"How about _Bonnefoy_? He's good at sugary words and flirting with everything with legs." The Brit flicked a hand towards the Frenchman's direction.

"I'm afraid I cannot be generous with bestowing my charm to anyone, as I am deeply infatuated with _mon chéri_," At that, Francis left his spot by the window and joined Matthew sitting on the bed, sliding his hands under the Canadian's arms, and wrapping around his waist, nuzzling as he pulled the younger male's back against his chest, "I've yet paid back my _sincerest_ regards to _Madame Boyer_ for her treatments of my dearest little Matthieu, so I cannot promise to be _civil_ let alone _convincing_." A dangerous gleam entered his eyes, though it was partly hidden in shadow.

Matthew blushed hotly at Francis' affectionate gestures, but the last thing on his mind was to protest against it. However, he was careful not to look as eager towards the affections as he felt since Arthur glowered darkly from his place and looked about to start another shouting match.

"Why can't we just do a cleansing to get her to move on?" Alfred came to Matthew's rescue, for Arthur sighed and turned his attention away.

"Because a mere cleansing isn't powerful enough due to her connection to the demon; it would work if she _was _a mere pawn, but she isn't, which makes things tricky." He explained to Alfred in a dry voice.

"Why can't we do both at the same time then?" Alfred frowned.

"Demons and spirits don't follow the same rules," Arthur pushed down the urge to roll his eyes out of exasperation; _for the love of God how did that ignorant, foolish man manage to put together a paranormal agency in the first place? _He thought. "It isn't _impossible_ to combine the two, but I highly discourage it," before the American even opened his mouth, Arthur answered, "Because it would increase the possibility of a nasty failure tremendously, which could result in serious injuries, if not death."

"But we might succeed too. That's not impossible either." Alfred muttered.

"There will be too many unknown factors out of our control. It's too risky; I won't allow it."

"Okay; okay! Geez, just a thought, you know…"

Arthur sighed once more, but this time in a gentler manner. His eyes softened a little at the pout Alfred wore on his face, and Francis briefly thought that the British man wouldn't look half bad with his thick eyebrows if he'd just loosen up more often; "I don't mean to crush your ideas, Alfred. I'm not a smooth-talker, so I will more-often-than-not sound frank, if not a little disregardful of how you feel. Don't take it personally, please, any of you," He turned to look at all his team mates around the room, wincing a little as he met Francis' eyes, "I know I have a hard personality to get along with, and I get angry easily, but I can't help it. I'm just…snappy by birth; it's not my fault…" He trailed off, suddenly aware of the silence hanging in the room.

Blinking, Alfred scratched the back of his head sheepishly, "Well, since we're all in the moment, I'd just like to say…sorry if in some situations I really don't know anything about what we're doing half of the time. I kinda just go with the flow, you know." The American shrugged; "But I'm learning, alright? And all of you guys have been _extremely_ helpful and tolerant to my…uhhh…sometimes impulsive actions…So, um, thanks…yeah…I'll do my best to be a hero to all of you." He nodded gratefully and gave two thumbs up, flashing a toothy grin at everyone, eyes lingering on Arthur, who smiled tentatively.

"That's very sweet, Alfred," Matthew gave a shy smile, nibbling on his bottom lip, "But…I'm afraid Alfred isn't the only impulsive one…" His eyes looked down, smile dropping; "I…I shouldn't have just run off that one time…with Mrs. Moore…I led everyone into a dangerous situation without thinking, and caused harm to someone…I care a lot about…" Francis' arms tightened around him a little in reassurance, and Matthew's smile returned. Tilting his gaze up, he addressed everyone around him, "I'm very sorry about what happened. All of you are of the nicest people I've ever met; I'm very glad to have gotten to know all of you."

"Matthew shouldn't worry or feel bad," Ivan said, tone sweet and eyes sparkling, "We take care of ourselves and each other, da~?" The Russian then hummed, looking up in thought, "…Ah! I found one!" He clapped as he excitedly said, "I'm sorry for looking down at you when talking to you, but I'm so tall, I can't help it! I'll try my best to be sitting when you talk to me!" His cheeks held a rosy colour as he looked around expectantly at his fellow teammates, who stared, unsure of how to respond.

"…I suppose I should say something too, aru…" Yao cleared his throat before the atmosphere turned too awkward from Ivan's statement; "I guess…If…If anyone has something on your mind and need someone to talk to, I would love to be of help…and I would love to take everyone out to Chinese food sometimes, aru!" The Chinese man gave a bright smile, eyes a little dreamy, no doubt thinking of the many different types of delicious food originated from his homeland.

Silence resumed, and everyone turned their attention to Francis, who, at first, did not seem aware of it. As time bore on, however, he blinked, looking back at the pairs of eyes waiting for him to speak.

"_Alors_…" He gave a lazy smile, "I can't think of anything. I am very careful when treating those around me with what they deserve." He closed his eyes, resting his chin on Matthew's shoulder, strands of waved blond hair falling to hide parts of his face in soft shadows.

"Who gave _you_ the right to judge what people deserve?" Arthur scoffed, crossing his arms in defiance.

"Ahhh…that reminds me," Francis did not move from his position, but opened his eyes, though only one of them was entirely visible, unblocked by hair; "There _is_, however, someone I need to speak to."

Sighing, Arthur rolled his eyes, practically hearing the torrents of glittering, fancy words of utmost corniness the Frenchman, he was sure of it, was about to say towards his _mon chéri_.

To his complete surprise, Francis looked directly at him and uttered in a sincere voice; "I apologize for poking fun at your cooking, Arthur."

The Brit stared, wide-eyed and lips slightly agape.

"I forget," The silky voice continued, "That not all are blessed with talents to create fine cuisine as _moi_."

Sighing, Arthur was too lazy to be picky over the apology; "Fair enough." He simply said.

Just as he opened his mouth to start another discussion about what they were going to do about the case, however, Francis added.

"…By-the-by, my _sincerest_ apologies as well for saying you have monster eyebrows behind your back."

It took both Ivan _and_ Alfred to restrain the furious Brit this time, though the tall Russian's attempts were only half-hearted.

~o0o0o0o0o~

In the end, no one was able to come up with a good plan for convincing the Boyer woman to pass on peacefully. The next day was spent repeating everything that had already been said, and using the excuse of finding further clues regarding the Boyer family to walk around town. The team had dinner in a small restaurant, and had a good time, surprisingly without many arguments. It seemed that all of them welcomed the small rest from the job.

Deciding to take a stroll around the area after dinner, Francis waved to his teammates, gaze lingering wishfully on the equally longing pair of sparkling gems that were Matthew's eyes. Unfortunately Arthur was exceptionally stubborn this time and would not allow his cousin to wander off with a "shameless, narcissistic pervert".

The Canadian kept giving sad glances back as he was tugged away; Francis gave a warm smile each time the strawberry blonde turned his head.

Eventually the loud-spoken American led the others around a corner, excitedly chattering about an alien friend named "Tony" he apparently had when he was a child, and Francis lost sight of his darling little Matthieu.

He sighed, brushing a gloved hand through sleek strands of soft blond waves, and turned on his feet, humming one of his favourite French songs under his breath. He followed the road downhill, and did not seem to notice as he turned and weaved through smaller, stone-paved streets, attracted by various little roadside stores and private gardens.

Taking a delicate sniff from the rose he'd purchased from a small flower shop he stumbled past, he carefully tucked it into the breast pocket of his casual suit top, and, for the first time since his walk, wondered where he was.

Deep in thoughts, he had forgotten to keep a track of the turns he took, and found himself lost, standing on the sidewalk of a rather narrow street lined by thin apartments with their primary floors rented out for business of various kinds, unpopulated and quiet as the sky darkened.

A few clouds floated overhead, still partly aflame with crimson shades as dusk was not yet gone, but the streetlamps had already buzzed on.

Sighing, he decided to walk to the closest intersection.

As he approached the crossway, he noted, with mild interest, a small cemetery on one of its corners.

It looked a little rundown, but was not spooky. Only a few gravestones could be seen, and, squinting, Francis could make out a vague shape of a squatted figure in front of one of the gravestones.

Thinking he should probably ask for directions from a local instead of calling up his team and have them laugh at his carelessness, he half-jogged to the graveyard, feeling a little chilled in the cooling air.

Nearing the entrance to the cemetery, he wasn't sure if he should go in. Looking at the figure about ten paces away from him, he decided to make his presence known as to not frighten the person still bent down and still.

"…Excuse me?" He made sure his voice wasn't too loud as to startle, but loud enough to be clearly heard.

The figure jerked a little, and a scarf-wrapped head turned slightly to his direction.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Madame," the Frenchman paused in speech; "…May I…May I come in?" He felt a little sheepish asking, as it was a public cemetery after all. But he felt as though he was intruding on the old woman and her loved one; it never hurt to be polite.

"Of course," A soft voice answered, and Francis was a little surprised at how young it sounded, as he had expected an elder.

As he walked closer, little by little, the woman's face was shown.

She was middle-aged, perhaps in her mid-thirties, and was quite beautiful, though she wore an anxious expression as if by nature; her watery eyes flittered back and forth in front of her like will-o'-wisps in the dark, unreadable, and reserved.

She remained squatted down as Francis neared her.

He stopped beside her and squatted down as well, she turned her head to fully face the Frenchman with surprise.

"I thought it would be better to speak to you like this," Francis explained in a half-whisper, a kind smile on his lips.

"Oh…of course…" The woman answered, nodding in a fleeting manner, and turned back to the gravestone in front of her.

Following her gaze, Francis looked over, and had to bite down on his lips to stop a loud gasp of astonishment from leaving his lips.

In front of him, on the grave stone, read "Richard Boyer", though it was decayed and hidden in shadow. It was hard to make out the rest of the carvings as moss grew all over it.

The woman merely stared, eyes holding a faraway look.

"Was he…close?" Francis asked, careful not to sound too eager or curious.

"He was my grandfather," The woman answered, voice quite robotic.

Francis hummed a small acknowledgement, and, taking the rose from his breast pocket, he gently set it down in front of the overgrown grave.

Looking down at the rose lying on top of moss and yellowing grass, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness for the sorry state of the artist's grave site. True, he was not well-known, but this was rather shockingly underappreciated.

The woman shifted on her feet, looking away, embarrassed.

"I…have not come back to this town since his funeral…" She spoke, voice a whisper, eyes flickering around the proximity of their surroundings, "I'm afraid I…I not only neglected my duties, but failed miserably at it…"

Francis shook his head lightly, golden hair shimmering under the streetlamps; "It does not matter what you did not do; what is important is that you came back." He answered, hoping to offer comfort.

Instead of feeling thankful, the woman's lips pressed together tightly.

"…Madame?" The Frenchman frowned a little.

The woman sighed, a tired look overcastting her expressions; "I'm…I'm sorry to say that it's not as what it looks like…I didn't come back to make up for what I didn't do. I came back to return something I don't want anymore." She sniffed dryly. "If it weren't for that I…probably wouldn't come back at all. I never lived in this town, but it makes me uneasy…"

Silence came between the two.

"I-I'm sorry, but what was it that you wanted?" The woman turned her face, eyes curious.

"Oh, of course, well," Francis gave a small, embarrassed chuckle, "I came to this town not long ago with a few of my colleagues. We had dinner together but I parted ways with them to explore, but I'm now hopelessly lost without a thread of an idea as to where I am, or how to get back to my hotel. I was hoping you were a local, but since you said you've never lived here…"

"What's your hotel called?"

"Hedgewood."

The woman stiffened immediately, and looked away.

Francis noted that reaction with interest.

"…Madame?"

"Follow along this road," The woman gestured towards the street parallel to their positions, "And turn right at Dessin street; once you reach its end, you won't miss it if you look to your left uphill."

"Thank you," Francis gave a smile of gratitude, "You know your way well for someone who has never lived here."

The woman threw Francis a slightly suspicious glance, and stood up. Dusting herself self-consciously, she nodded at the still squatting Frenchman.

"Good night, sir." She sniffed dryly once again, and turned to go.

"Madame," Francis called before she could leave the graveyard.

She halted, waiting.

"I apologize if I am imposing, but I wonder if you could come with me," He stood up as well, "I think there is something you can help me with."

The woman did not reply right away, but, after a few moments, she turned her head slightly. In a small voice, she replied, "When I went to Hedgewood yesterday, I was told it was temporarily closed down, and there were no tenants inside."

"My colleagues and I aren't tenants," Francis said, unmoving from his spot as to not frighten the woman by approaching her from the back, "We were hired by the owners of the hotel to investigate something curious."

"…something curious?" The woman's head turned a little more, though her face was still hidden.

"Yes," The Frenchman blinked, frowning a little as the atmosphere was gradually changing into something he couldn't quite put his finger on, "We believe it is related to your grandmother, Eileen Boyer—"

Before Francis' voice even faded, the woman swung around and flung herself at him, eyes wide and mouth a sneer as a high-pitched growl left her lips.

"WHAT DO YOU KNOW? WHAT DO YOU KNOW?" She shouted, hands shooting out to grab the Frenchman tightly by the collars of his suit top.

Francis winced; he didn't bring his iron with him for this trip.

They stared at each other, the woman seething and the Frenchman still but apprehensive.

As abruptly as it came, the woman gasped and shrunk into herself, hands shaking as she unclenched her fingers.

"…I'm…I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…do you see-do you see what it's doing to me…? What it's doing to me…" Her hushed voice hissed, shaken; the sky had completely darkened.

Francis did not reply, and waited while the woman recomposed herself.

"Come with me, Madame, and we will put an end to this," He said, walking a little closer to the distraught but slowly calming woman. Offering his arm, he turned his head to catch her line of vision.

She looked up, hopeful, and eyes alive for the first time in the evening.

He gave a charming, encouraging smile, and knew, immediately and with absolute confidence, that the woman would not say no.

Unsurprisingly, the woman nodded, and wrapped her arm gingerly around his.

They left the cemetery in silence; the rose contrasted starkly to the dead grass and dark moss it was laid down upon.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

_Merci beaucoup pour le vin, monsieur Kirkland._ – Thank you very much for the wine, Mr. Kirkland.

_l'amour_ – love (you should know this one, yeah? Or else Francis will be very surprised and sad! …and probably voluntarily show you what it is, though I doubt you will mind that, eh?)

_Alors_…- Well… (I _think_ this is how you say it; not very sure…please correct me if I'm wrong!)

**Ending Notes:** Alfred and Arthur are so cute, aren't they? ;)

I had too much fun making Francis snort (it's one of my favourite parts of the chapter LOL). Believe it or not, another favourite part is actually Ivan shoving down his veggies (like a good boy!) so that he can go find Yao. I have too much fun with these folks. XD

I have no idea if such a town where the team is actually exists a few hours drive away from NY; just pretend it does. I'd wanna go there. Sorry if Yao's explanations are confusing; it's much more confusing to write it. Give it a few read-overs, and hopefully it'll make sense, 'kay?

Reviews are soul food for a hungry author! Please? A few words? Matthew gives you his puppy eyes~~

Honestly though, I'd love to hear from you. You guys are the best! : )

Second exorcism in the next chapter.


	7. CASE1: Hedgewood Hotel, Part 6

**Author's Notes:** I'm so, so sorry that it took me so long to update; suddenly I got a crap load of things to do so I didn't get to write as much as I liked. I'm one of those people that need to "get in the mood" before writing so time is really important XD BUT the chapter is here so all I got to say is I really hope you like this one! :D

Hopefully this exorcism is creepier than the one before. Please enjoy!

_Super duper thanks to all of you guys again! You seriously have no idea how much your support means to me; and thanks to everyone who made rainbows in my days! ;)_

**I highly suggest trying to imagine the sounds as you read the chapter**, especially during the exorcism. =D

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

"My name is Sarah Boyer," The woman said, sipping on a cup of tea.

After bringing Sarah to Hedgewood, Alfred suggested everyone to go to the small café Arthur had found instead of staying inside the rather hostile-feeling hotel.

They were crowding in a corner in the small, soft-lighted place. The American sat across from the stiff-backed woman, notebook and pen out, gazing attentively. Arthur sat beside him, eyes glancing at the notebook every once in a while, wondering what Alfred was scribbling in it this time.

Francis was lounging comfortably in the loveseat sofa on the woman's left, an arm wrapped loosely around Matthew's shoulders as the Canadian blew silently at the cup of steaming hot chocolate he held in his hands.

Yao sat on the woman's immediate right, stirring his tea absentmindedly. It wasn't his favourite kind, but it wasn't bad. Ivan, with childish delight, sat on a high stool he took from the long table looking over to the outside, appearing a little menacing as he towered above everyone.

Matthew briefly wondered if this was his idea of "sitting down" when someone talks to him so he wouldn't be "looking down" at anyone. Frankly it didn't make much difference, as the Russian was still quite tall balancing on the small stool and its long legs.

"I wasn't born in this town," The woman continued in a rather monotonous voice, eyes holding a faraway look, "When my mother was still young, my grandfather took her and moved to another state, where I was born. I never knew who my father was, so I was quite close with my grandfather, and when he died, it was devastating to me." She sounded rather detached, telling strangers an overlook of her family history, "He requested to be buried here, where he was raised, and gave me his wedding ring as part of my heirloom. Ever since…Ever since stepping foot into this town I've had a…a horrible feeling so strong that it-it convinced me to never come back."

She stopped abruptly, a dark look shadowing over her eyes, and sipped on her tea.

Opposite of her, Alfred scribbled with a serious expression, and, Arthur, looking over, hid his exasperated look as he saw a spaceship being sketched into the notebook.

"Apparently not coming back's not enough," Sarah gave a weak laugh absent of humour, "It seemed that the ring attracted something from here that's been following me ever since. I have a feeling that…I have a feeling that it's mistaken me for my grandfather…"

Arthur nodded; that made sense. It was possible that when Sarah came to the town, she attracted one of the spirits enslaved and instructed by Eileen Boyer to seek out her husband. It was highly likely that one of the most significant attachments to Richard Boyer's identity was his wedding ring.

Luckily for Sarah, that was perhaps the only matching attachments, hence why she was still alive.

Pawns being controlled are often rather, for the lack of a better word, stupid, and linear in logic, rendering them sometimes rather ineffective. It helped that Eileen Boyer probably didn't know what she was doing in the first place, trying to control something she knew nothing about and having no distinct consciousness except for seeking revenge.

Arthur snorted; how pitiful.

"Long story short," The middle-aged woman sighed, "I forced myself to come back, for the last time, and return the ring to my grandfather, hoping that this would bring an end to…whatever that's been happening to me." She shook her head as if in defeat.

"You can definitely put an end to this, Ms. Boyer," Alfred began to briefly explain what the team had figured out, glossing over details that might upset the woman.

On the loveseat sofa, Matthew blinked and turned to Francis.

"I've been wondering, eh…" He whispered, "Why would Eileen hurt her granddaughter? I mean, she should at least realize that Sarah's related, eh? Having the ring and all…couldn't she have figured it out? That Sarah's not her husband?"

"Spirits bend on revenge are hardly logical, Matthieu," Francis explained, voice a low rumble; "Had they not lost all except for the belief that their only purpose is to bring justice to themselves, they would never bring misfortune to their children. They are not bound here by will or choice as we perceive them, but by their vengeful resentment. They are hurting, though they don't realize it. It is a very unfortunate fate."

Matthew nodded, heart suddenly feeling heavy as he looked over at the woman listening to Alfred.

Francis, watching Matthew's expressions carefully, rubbed the Canadian's shoulder reassuringly with his arm wrapped around the smaller-framed man.

"Not to worry, Matthieu," He turned, whispering into the strawberry blonde's ear, "That is why we are here; that is why we must do what we do, _hmmm_?"

Matthew blinked, eyes pensive, and nodded.

"So, you'll help us?" Alfred's hopeful voice cut through Matthew's thoughts.

"Yes, definitely," The woman sat up straighter, eyes determined, "I don't know how I feel about this whole situation, but I know my grandfather loved his wife, and wouldn't want to see her suffer her sickness even after death." She then sighed, giving her head another light shake; "This is overwhelming…I can't believe she would—…"

"I think this is enough for tonight," Alfred offered a supportive smile, to which the woman returned, "Just drop by tomorrow at Hedgewood and leave the rest to us. Let's bring an end to this."

_That's right…_Matthew thought, _this case had gone on for far too long…_

Shaking hands with Sarah and bidding goodbye, the team walked back to the hotel, wondering what the next day could hold, and hoping it would wrap up the case with success.

~o0o0o0o0o~

The day was dark; it reflected the heavy atmosphere drenched over the hotel building perfectly.

It was almost as if the gods above watched with gleeful interest at what was about to unfold.

Matthew sighed, deciding not to be cynical towards the gods on a day like this.

They were quite a sight, standing in a loose circle in the lobby, waiting for Ms. Boyer to show up.

Arthur was, once again, in his dark, warlock cloak with a serious expression on his face, though, Matthew noted, his jaws were set a little too tightly and his hands clenched into themselves a little too harshly. Yao also wore a robe, though Asian themes obviously dominated it. It was loose fitting and hung on the slender man's shoulders; the Canadian was surprised at the graceful manner in which the Chinese man carried himself under what looked to be layers of fabrics floating around him as he moved.

"Thank you, but this is not my actual ceremonial robe, aru," he had answered, blushing a little, when Matthew complimented him on it; "I'm only helping today, but wearing something suiting for the occasion makes me feel better." They were all nervous after all.

Ivan, sporting his usual long scarf, wore a soft, cream-coloured suit jacket dropping well below his knees. Black, leather boots and pale-coloured pants could be seen as the tall Russian moved, but most were covered under the coat-like top he wore. The material didn't look very thick, but it was perfectly pressed and hung nicely around the tall man's frame. He looked quite majestic, almost shinning in the dark, vast room, holding his water pipe in one hand and cooing at the fish in the fish tanks.

Francis, once again, looked like he just hopped off from a runway show. Complimenting fabric textures and colours blended and contrasted harmoniously from top to bottom. He wore a makeshift cravat around his neck by a thin scarf, with a pristine shirt and a patterned vest snug around his figure. Beige-toned dress pants followed, thin lined and fitting. A light blazer completed the look, and Matthew wondered why the Frenchman even bothered dressing so nicely for an occasion like this, where clothes could become torn beyond repair and dirtied. His hair was even carefully done, not a strand out of place, shimmering as if reflected by sunlight like always.

Even Alfred wore an ironed dress shirt with a dark, form-fitting biker jacket, their dissimilarities not clashing as Matthew had thought they would. Dark wash jeans followed, sturdy and comfortable. His sharp, blue eyes glowed, slightly thoughtful and piercing, and sparkled in pride when the Canadian asked about his outfit.

"Of course I'd dress up for the occasion! You gotta look good when you're the _hero_!" The American flashed a bright, sunny smile, "Besides, these materials lessen the chance of injuries." Matthew marveled at just how optimistic he could be while saying something like that.

Looking down at himself, he felt extremely underdressed.

He wore a simple shirt and his usual red hoodie, just because it was soft against his skin and warm. He could move in it easily too. Faded jeans were cozy around his legs. Adjusting his glasses, he suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to hug something and nuzzle against it.

He was perhaps the most nervous of the team; his heart beat loudly inside his chest.

Now that he'd taken in everyone's clothes, he needed something else to occupy his mind with while they waited for Ms. Boyer's arrival. The woman had called and said she was on her way, which meant she'd be here very soon.

Joining Ivan in fish watching, much to the delight of the joyful Russian, Matthew was laughing with the tall man as he tried to herd all the fish to one corner of the tank, despite of the fact he was on the other side of the glass, when Ms. Boyer came through the front doors of the hotel.

She was perhaps more anxious than Matthew, giving a small smile and saying hello.

Rejoining the group with Ivan, Matthew was idly aware of a light conversation Alfred stroke up with the woman in pleasantries before Arthur interrupted.

"As glad as I am that you actually have it in you to be polite, Alfred, I think we should begin." He said, voice tight, though it meant no offense, as his eyes never left the square table making up his altar in the middle of the lobby.

Nodding and giving Ms. Boyer one last encouraging grin, Alfred followed Arthur and took his place on Arthur's left while Yao stood on the right, both men a step or two behind the British man.

Urging the woman to follow with a soft voice, Francis instructed her to stand between Alfred and Yao, a direct behind to Arthur.

As she stepped into her position, Arthur took a deep breath.

"Is everyone ready to begin?" He said, "We can't go back once we start."

Alfred looked around; seeing nods, he answered, "Yep, never been readier."

Arthur gave a weak laugh, but did not comment. Parting his legs a little to shoulder width, he firmed his stance, and closed his eyes, arms rising slowly with palms up.

Mumbled Latin words left his lips in a muffled chant, and immediately, the large lobby darkened dramatically as a deep, rumbling sound started to growl in the background.

Ms. Boyer looked around, eyes wide with fear, and Alfred extended a hand to hold hers, and gave a slight squeeze. The woman sighed, trying to calm herself, and squeezed back gently.

Arthur's chanting rose in volume, and the words became even more undistinguishable. Whispers and voices echoed in the hollow feeling room, and the British man's form began to emit a faint glow, pure in colour, and the air around him seemed to immediately feel lighter and fresher.

However, a putrid smell of decaying organs and burning flesh rose from the corners of the room, and a new voice, amongst the deep growling and whispers of spells, began to breathe.

It was labouring, as if heaving wheezed gasps, after many years of breathless existence, and its sounds began to climb in intensity rapidly.

Arthur's voice rose in synchronization, and, giving a last shout of stringed words, he cringed, and abruptly fell forward.

Alfred jolted in alarm, a hand shooting out to grab onto the Brit before he crumbled to the ground.

"NO!" Yao shouted over the noise shifting around the lobby, "You mustn't touch him!"

Alfred startled and jumped a little on his feet at the sudden shout from the Chinese man. Eyes snapping to the shorter, dark-haired male, he questioned with a frown.

"…Look closely, aru…" Yao's voice dropped to a whisper, eyes never leaving Arthur's back.

Alfred turned, and, expecting Arthur to be kneeling over or something similar, could hardly gasp.

It was as if time had stopped existing around the shorter, blonde male. He was leaning forward, ready to fall, but was halted, suspending in the air while only his toes brushed against the floor. His arms were no longer raised, but dangled in front of him limply.

Arthur had stopped breathing.

The growling in the background dropped to a minimum, and Matthew's hands tightened around Francis' arm.

All life in the room waited as a buzz of noise simmered.

Suddenly, the body still in the air jerked into a retching, deep inhale. The sound was long, dragged, and hitched as though its airway were partially obstructed. Arthur's chest expanded in a warped manner, and his shoulders bore backwards, head tilting slightly towards the ceiling.

He paused as his lungs could no longer inflate, and, equally as painful sounding and nerve-wrecking, he exhaled, shoulders slumping down and head flopping to face the floor.

Another long breath was taken, and Alfred felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, the twisted, deformed sound forever etched into his mind.

Arthur inhaled once more, and stopped. His lips moved, and a horrible, stretched voice as if croaking from a throat that had rotted and not spoken in ages passed through them.

"…_You left me…"_

No one dared to move or speak.

"…_You left me to die…You left me to die…"_ A dry chuckle followed.

Matthew's legs shook, and he clung to Francis' arm as if a lifeline, eyes wide and unblinking.

"…_and now I am dead…"_ Arthur giggled, shoulders quavering, though it was not his voice that gargled out from the back of his throat.

"…_White walls…white, blinding walls…days and nights and days and nights and days and night and days and nights—"_ Arthur's body started to slowly revolve in a lazy circle, toes barely touching the floor as the voice repeated its words as if a mantra.

"…_a lifetime of white walls…concaving, twisting, whispering, glaring, laughing, mocking, crying, sneering but __**you**__…………I __**never**__ forgot __**your**__ face…"_ Teeth baring, Arthur hissed, the sound echoing in the vast room.

"…_Oh Richaaaaard~~~~ …I know you're heeere~~~~"_ An eerie, singsong tone now laced the voice speaking gleefully.

Ms. Boyer's right hand clenched around the wedding ring her grandfather gave her, and bit down on her lips.

"…_Richaaard~~ …Richaaaaard~~~~"_ Arthur continued to call, head swinging a little as it tilted to look sideways.

Unable to bear the sight any longer, Alfred spoke up in a confident voice, sound suddenly stark and cuttingly clear; "Your husband is dead."

Yao winced; way to go for a careful approach…

The singing voice instantly stopped, and Arthur was still once more.

All held their breath, waiting for the next move to be made.

Abruptly and at a neck-breaking speed, Arthur sprung around and flung himself towards the American, face snapping to a stop millimeters away from Alfred's horrified face.

His eyes were wide open, pupils completely dilated, eyeballs glassy and unmoving as he stared.

It took all of Alfred's heroic bravery to not cry out and fall down onto his butt out of fear.

Instead, he stood his ground, the hand holding Ms. Boyer's leaving hers, staring back into Arthur's eyes as he could look nowhere else, and swallowed down the terror seizing his heart.

"…_Careful what you say, son…you tread on dangerous grounds…"_ The voice was still light and tuneful, but gained an edge as Arthur's eyes glinted, flashing in the darkening room.

"Your husband is dead, Eileen Boyer. He passed on to the world beyond, and you should join him instead of staying here, meddling with innocent lives." Alfred's voice was even, but his hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into his palms as he forced them to not tremble.

Arthur growled, and Alfred pushed on.

"Stop this, Eileen! You're doing nothing but hurting yourself and your—"

A sudden flash of silver, and a pained, bitten back cry.

Blood dripped to the floor, its metallic scent strong in the air.

For a dreadful moment, Matthew had feared the worst, but as Alfred bit his teeth, harsh breaths leaving his nose and eyes blaring in anger and fright, he finally took sight of what had happened.

Arthur held his ceremonial dagger in one of his hands, when he had gotten it Matthew did not know. It shook as he aimed to plunge the weapon deep into Alfred's gut, but the American, at the last moment possible, stopped him by grabbing onto the blade, pushing onto the hilt.

Fingers clutching around the shinny metal shook badly, but did not relent their hold as blood seeped from between them. Soft grunts of intense pain could be heard, but Alfred's eyes never left Arthur's. The dagger shifted back and forth in trembles as opposing forces battled each other, but, eventually, the American began to win as the tip grew further and further away from his body.

There was an increasing puddle of blood at Alfred's feet, and Yao quickly intervened.

"He is right; you have no place here, Eileen Boyer! Leave at once or we _will_ pass rightful judgment to your actions!" He shouted.

Arthur growled, and his eyes flashed away from Alfred's, his push on the dagger wavering.

Just as the injured blonde made to take the short sword from the British man's hand, a rush of will flung its possessed body around at air-splitting speed, shrieking in anger as it aimed for the Chinese man's heart.

Yao had been prepared, and, abruptly tilting his body and eyes narrowing, grabbed onto the wrist with one hand and chopped down with the outer edge of the other. It hit Arthur's hand, and the dagger fell with a loud clank. Arthur screamed in anger, and Yao kicked the bloodied weapon away with his foot.

Suddenly, screeches and howls erupted from all around them. Ms. Boyer screamed, hands shooting up to cover her ears. It was suddenly stifling hot; the walls began to darken as if burned by fire; the air almost melted from heat.

Arthur swung his arms upwards, grabbing onto his hair, and screamed louder, voice breaking at a shrill pitch.

"_DIE! DIE! DIE! UNFAITHFUL BASTARD! SUFFER! SUFFER! BURN! BURN! __**BURN!**__"_ He repeatedly shrieked, and suddenly, flames burst forth all around them from dark corners.

Shadows writhed and cried out, flying from their hiding places and cutting through the air in a deafening chorus of pain and torment. Matthew closed his eyes, hands tight against his ears, as Francis looked around, trying to find a safe place to stand, away from immediate danger of catching fire.

Ivan watched the twisting figure of the possessed British man with eerie stillness and silence, his fingers tightening around his faithful water pipe.

A surge of dark shadows flew past their heads. As if sensing their presence, it turned in midair and charged down towards them.

Hugging the shaking Canadian close, Francis shielded Matthew with his arms and shouted out to the unmoving Russian.

"Ivan! Behind you!"

The Russian's eyes flickered, and, in a swirl of movements, he wielded the pipe between both hands and swung it against the incoming shadow.

A nasty sound of splattering flesh reached Matthew's ears a second later, and, opening his eyes, he gasped in shock.

Ivan was still once more, looking down at his hands as blood and bits of unrecognizable clumps of soft tissue covered the entire front of his body, with large smears on his hands, arms, all over his chest and calm face. His pale hair, where hit by the exploding blob of fleshy matter, hung down and stuck to his cheeks. Dribbles of blood slid down along the silvery handle of his water faucet.

He looked up, eyes shinning brightly.

"_…This is fun, da~?_" He said, his childlike voice ringing with strange clarity as he looked over at Matthew and Francis, a large grin stretching across his face.

The other two didn't know what to say, staring with wide eyes.

Beating the faucet against his leg gently as if to shake away dirt, he did not seem to notice his clothing catching more blood, and slowly walked towards the shadows surrounding Ms. Boyer and her protectors.

Alfred's eyes shined with alertness as he dodged the attacking shapes, careful not to leave his spot as to break the ritual. Ms. Boyer knelt down on the ground, hands still over her ears, shaking and yelping. Yao was shouting, though it was unclear what the slender man said, but the shadowy forms trying to hurt the quartet, if counting the possessed Arthur, seemed to become deflected by an unseen shield, though it was wavering.

It was hard to concentrate with all the piercing sounds around them.

Arthur, suddenly silent amongst havoc and glaring at Yao in murderous contempt, reached towards the altar and grasped onto one of the unused, tall, metal candle holders. His face split into a gleeful grin as he turned towards the Chinese man, body still dangling in the air as if a puppet hanging from unseen strings. Yao, trying to fend off the shadows and keep the barrier up in all angles at the same time, did not notice that small development.

Ivan, however, spotted it, and immediately his smile disappeared into a scowl, and a dark, piercing look overcastted his face with enough menace to completely freeze a burning furnace.

Both hands tightening around the rod-like item, Arthur swung his arms back, eyes rolling up dementedly and cackles erupting from his throat, and aimed to kill as the brought the candle holder down towards the Chinese man's head.

There was a loud pound of metal against firm flesh.

Arthur was still, and, slowly, his head tilted up.

Ivan, clenching the candle holder in one hand and his water pipe in another, stood beside Yao, who had just noticed the possessed man's attempt at ending his life.

Face unsmiling, the Russian stared down at the small form, eyes bright against a shadowed face; "Playing sneaky…not a good idea, bad child, not a good idea…da?"

Arthur actually looked frightened, as the fires roared inside the lobby higher than before. Sweat rolled down his face, but all onlookers couldn't decide whether it was from the overpowering heat or cold fear of the towering man.

The fright in the British man's dark eyes was only temporary before a glower deformed his pale face. He tried to wrench the candle holder from Ivan's hand. He failed to do so, and, fury erupting, he opened his mouth; a skull-splitting scream of rage left it.

Alfred fell to his knees, head spinning from the sudden blast of sounds, his still bleeding hand smudging blood all over one side of his face. "-A-ARGH—!" He grunted, but the sound was lost through the storm of noise.

Yao shook like a thin leaf, hands reaching to cover his ears, and turned away, lips apart in a silent gasp as his eyes squeezed shut.

Ivan was unfazed and still.

In an instant, shapes and flying spheres of shadows all paused in their paths and shot down towards the Russian.

The decision had been quick, more of a reflex than anything really. Ivan, yanking the candle holder out of Arthur's hands and throwing it far away, turned towards Yao, and pulled the shocked Chinese man into his arms.

Body shielding Yao's slender form, he did not move when the explosion of formless, attacking energy blasted down onto him.

"IVAN!" Alfred's scream was almost unheard as the earth itself shook. Coughing and gasping as rotten matter splashed all over his body and burned like hot coal upon immediate contact, he was vaguely aware of Ms. Boyer's figure curling into a fetal position before he had to shield his face from flying debris.

Matthew, crying out in fear and alarm, tried to run to the aid of his friends, but could not tear himself out of Francis' arms, which were suddenly strong and relentless.

"LET ME GO! FRANCIS LET ME GO!" He screamed, pushing at the Frenchman.

"Stop it, Matthieu!" Francis tried to keep his voice level, but it trembled horribly. His face was unusually pale, ocean-blue eyes unblinking, glued to the place where Ivan and Yao had stood, now the place where everything had gone a disastrous turn.

"LET ME GO! LET ME GO!" Matthew thrashed with all his might, tears falling from his eyes, droplets splashing onto the ground only to sizzle to nothing from the dire heat. "LET ME—"

"-WHAT CAN YOU DO?"

A violent spasm shook through the Canadian.

Slowly, he tilted his face, tear-filled, disbelieving eyes looking upwards.

He never expected Francis to yell like that.

"…I'm sorry, Matthieu," A much softer voice continued, "I'm sorry to yell; I'm sorry I cannot let you go. We'd only make things worse. _Please_, understand." Francis did not look down to catch his eyes and give him a reassuring smile like all the other times when things went wrong.

The shadows faded, dissipating in thin air. And Ivan's bent-over figure was seen, still as before the attack, and stained beyond recognition.

His light-coloured jacket was completely soaked; dark crimson and brown spots covered his body. His hair was drenched, dyed an ugly shade of red. Steam seemed to rise from his form, and Matthew could only imagine how much it must've burnt.

"…I…I'm alright, aru…" A soft, shaky voice could be heard, muffled against Ivan's broad chest.

Ivan must've whispered a question.

Alfred slowly loosened his arms around himself, and opened his eyes.

Ms. Boyer was seen uncurling her limps from around herself, strangely unharmed, though badly shaken. One of her hands was tightly clenched into a fist, no doubt around the wedding ring that was a part of her heirloom.

_It's as though nothing except for us are aware of her existence…_Matthew thought, blinking in confusion. _Now that I think about it…Arthur never turned around to look behind him…_

Just as everyone started to think the worst was over, Arthur gave another shrill, hysterical laugh, and shadows began to gather again.

"Oh, come _on_!" Alfred exclaimed.

Swirling and growling, they hung in the air only for a brief second before shooting down once more towards Ivan.

"AHHH SHI—" The American could be heard hollering, before another voice cut in.

"-STOP IT EILEEN! STOP IT!"

The attacking shape abruptly exploded in midair before it even touched its target, sending its contents to spray out everywhere.

Matthew quickly slapped off all that got onto him before they burned too bad; Francis lifted a hand and shook his hair clean of the revoltingly-smelling slime, grimacing and shuddering in disgust.

Ms. Boyer had flung herself forward, arms wrapped tightly around Arthur, who was suddenly stiff and still.

On her ring finger, something glinted, reflecting little light from the dimming fire.

"…Stop it…Eileen…" Ms. Boyer's face was hidden, buried against the curve of where Arthur's neck met his shoulders.

"………_Richard…?"_ Arthur said, voice suddenly soft, but expression completely stunned. The one who possessed him did not know, after all, that Sarah had been behind him the entire time, hidden and protected by laws of the ritual.

"…Yes, it's me…" Ms. Boyer answered, voice quavering.

"…_You traitorous bastard!"_ An angry expression contorted Arthur's face as he tried to turn around, but found himself unable to.

"That's not true!" The woman's voice rose slightly, and Arthur stilled. "…That's not true…We have a child, a family…It's no one's fault."

Arthur did not answer.

"…I missed you…You don't deserve to suffer like this," Sarah's voice dropped down to a whisper, "…I love you—"

"_LIES! LIES! YOU'RE LYING—"_

"-Eileen! You silly woman!" There was a small pause as neither party spoke; "…didn't I say I'd come back for you…? But you…but you didn't wait for me…you never waited for me…"

"…_You…You left me…You left me for her…You left me to-You left me to—"_

"-To do what? Left you for whom?" The one possessing Arthur could not find an answer; "There was never anyone else! It was all inside your head!"

Arthur shook; he bit his lips, eyes staring intently forward.

Sarah leaned back a little, temporary not knowing what to say. Blinking, she caught sight of the ring she wore on her hand, and lifted it high in front of both of them.

Arthur gasped, and tears streamed down his face.

"…Do you see this?" The calm woman said in a soothing voice; Arthur nodded. "Do you see, Eileen…? …For all my life, this had never parted from me…"

"…_Then why did you…Then why did you not come back?"_

"I did, but you were already gone…I tried to save you but—…It was too late…It was too late…" There was a moment of silence, and all was still except for the flickering, but dying flames. "…You passed away, Eileen…why do you still insist on staying here…?"

"_I—…I don't…"_ Arthur shook his head, confused and troubled, _"I-I don't know why I'm…I thought…I don't know what I'm…where I'm…"_

"-Find me, Eileen," Sarah, encouraged, pressed on in a gentle, caring tone, "Find me beyond." With that, she took off the wedding ring, and slipped it onto Arthur's ring finger.

Arthur tilted his face down, and took a long look at the ring.

A long while that felt as though hours passed.

Suddenly, as if death had claimed him, his eyes rolled back and, completely limp, fell towards the ground.

Ms. Boyer let out a small yelp of surprise, trying to hold the man upright but struggling, grunting in effort.

Alfred was immediately at her side, helping her set the British man onto the ground carefully.

Ivan shifted, turning his head, eyes no longer glittering in anger, but in wonder. His face was covered in soot, and, now that Matthew took a closer look, realized what was previously blood and gore was now ash and grime, black and gritty as if the Russian had just walked out of a fire. Yao's head could be seen poking out from between his wrapped arms, face a little dirty in places, but generally unharmed and a lot cleaner than his protector.

Alfred sat back, cradling Arthur's head and looking around; "So…that's _it_? …That was _all_ we had to do after…_all _of_ this_?" Blinking, he huffed a scoffing sigh of disbelief. "…This is—...This is—…goddamned unbelievable!" He looked almost disappointed, but resorted to pouting instead.

Arthur suddenly coughed, interrupting the American's pout.

"Arthur?" Alfred's eyes lit up; "Arthur! We did it! She's gone now!"

"I _know_, dimwit!" Arthur groaned, wincing and rubbing his head; "Ugh…for _Pete's sakes_, _why_ didn't you stick to the original plan and just have Ms. Boyer talk to her? Instead you went about your bloody way to make her _mad_, is that the only thing you _can_ do, Jones? To make people mad?" The British man opened his eyes and glared. "You could've killed us all!"

Alfred gave a sheepish laugh; "…Sorry…" He scratched the back of his head of messy hair, the wayward strand sticking upwards stubbornly bobbing.

Giving the American a lingering, hard stare, the Brit sighed and looked away. "Forget it…just be glad we _didn't_ die…" Eyes closing, he added: "…How's your hand?"

"My hand?" Alfred blinked before realization dawned over his features; "Oh! I totally forgot about it!" Laughing at himself, he looked over his injuries. "It still hurts, but it's kinda scabbing now." Giving the one using his lap as a pillow an incredulous look, he asked, "You _knew_ about it?"

"Of course I knew about it! I was possessed, not _dumb_!"

Alfred, blinking a few times and breaking into a cheeky grin, nudged the British man. "…Are you _worried_ about me?"

Eyes remaining closed, Arthur gave a weak scoff. Trying to hide his reddening cheeks, he ignored the question, opened his eyes once more, and sat up with help from Alfred and Ms. Boyer.

"…What inspired you for that…erm…little speech, Ms. Boyer?" Arthur asked, curious.

The woman seemed to snap out of a daze; "—Oh? …W-Well…my grandfather…when he was alive, told me a lot of things about my grandmother, so…I just tested my luck…" Her shaky voice faded off, and, trying to give a weak smile, she looked down, eyes glazing over once more.

The poor woman was still in shock.

Matthew was next seen by Arthur's side, a relieved Frenchman following behind him slowly.

"How are you feeling?" The Canadian asked, biting his downer lip with a small frown on his face.

"Reasonably horrible, but that's not important right now," Arthur looked up towards the ceiling, "We still have work to do."

"-What?" Alfred was taken back, dismay clear on his attractive face, "What are you talking about? Didn't we just—" Following Arthur's eyes, he abruptly stopped in mid-sentence; "…Oh…"

Sprawled out on the ceiling and watching them with keen interest was a vast, dark form with glowing, yellow eyes.

It did not look threatened, but was, instead, rather curious.

Crackling energy surrounded the demon shaped vaguely like a fox, and Matthew's hopes to finally returning to New York to warm pancakes with maple syrup and a warm bed crumbled, sinking low inside his stomach.

…_How are we supposed to do an exorcism on something like__** that**__?_

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Ending Notes:** What? You didn't think it was gonna be over just like _that_, did you? ;p

While I had little time to write, it was super fun to write this one. Have I mentioned before that I love Ivan? I donno why but I'm loving the idea of him playing with his fish; _anyone else like fish as pets?_ I used to have a goldfish when I was small, and I seriously loved that goldfish. I swear to God I could talk to it. But then I had to give him away to a friend, and I was so sad. However, the good thing is that friend has like a lot, and I mean _a lot_, of goldfish and she took care of them super well, so my darling fish went to a good home. :)

Sorry I talked so much; I just had to get that out there. XD

Anyways, once again, please tell me what you think! You know I love you guys forever, SO I have something for you!

I'm thinking of writing a _Halloween special_ (sounds like some happy meal), 'cause Halloween's like the most kick-ass holiday ever. Well it _would_ be the most kick-ass holiday ever if we get a day off, but yeah, can't have everything, ya know.

So, here are some of the things I'm thinking of writing, lemme know which one you guys'd like to see (by the way they're all gonna be kids in this):

-1- Arthur takes Matthew to the forest on Halloween night to see fairies moving from their old home to somewhere else (haven't figured out where that somewhere else is yet)

-2- Alfred says goodbye to his alien friend Tony and finds out how crop circles are made

-3- Ivan goes on a search for Vodka (yeah, when he's like what six years old? LOL) and stumbles upon a parade of supernatural beings (haven't figured out what they are yet)

So yeah, please drop a review and lemme know, 'kay? Please? You know I love to hear from you guys, like, seriously. Omigawd Feliks is like totally taking over my brain like to the max.

Okay I shut up now. XD


	8. CASE1: Hedgewood Hotel, Part 7

**Author's Notes:** GAAAAAH! I hate how everything is piling up again in my life! But rest assured, dear readers – I'm going to be updating weekly even if it kills me! D:

I love you guys. ;_;

_Warning:_ This chapter contains foul language from our lovely Mister Alfred F. Jones.

Ps: Please correct my French if anything's awkward! :D

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

The sky was ocean blue, deep and clear. Sugary clouds floated across in a lethargic manner, white and fluffy, as if cotton candy. He could almost smell its sweet scent in the air, lying on a slightly sloped hill of grassland stretching as far as he could see, meeting the sky at the horizon. A single tree grew on the top of the hill, shielding his body partly from the bright sun.

A soft breeze teased his hair, and he watched as the wayward curl on the top of his head bobbed along as if to an unheard beat of music. Looking down, he was no longer wearing his red hoodie, but a simple, pale blue shirt with strings tying the front collars together. It was soft against his skin, and he sighed in comfort. The shirt was long and covered his hips. He was vaguely aware of shorts and socks.

Blades of fresh grass tickled the underside of his legs, and he shifted a little, giggling. Looking to his right side, he saw little groups of white daisies. They waved in the wind, and he smiled at them. Turning to his left, he met a pair of ocean blue eyes looking at him with amusement.

"EH-EHHHH!" He jolted and yelped in surprise, sitting up with an abrupt push of his hands. "F-Francis? …When-…When did you get here?" He asked, looking down with round eyes at the one still lying on the grassy ground with a lazy smile.

"I'm _always_ here, _mon amour_." Francis said, eyes twinkling like sparkling ripples of a lively lake. He hummed in comfort, shifting his position a little, and placed his arms behind his head.

It was then Matthew realized that Francis was dressed in…_NOTHING!_

…except for a rose between his legs covering his…well…

The Canadian's face flushed bright red like a hot pepper, mouth hanging open, but couldn't look away.

In fact, he felt like he couldn't move at all.

The cool breeze chose that moment to caress by again, and was playful with Francis' shimmering, silky long hair. Strands floated and framed around his handsome face, which bore a flirtatious smirk. Blinking close his enticing, alluring eyes for a brief moment, he let out a small, throaty moan of comfort and cozy pleasure.

"Join me, _mon chéri_?" Glittering ocean-blue opened up once again and gazed deeply into Matthew's invitingly.

The still stunned strawberry blonde, mouth still agape, continued to stare.

Francis chuckled; "You can look as much as you like, Matthieu, I am here for you to see, after all."

"…Uhhhmmm…" Matthew swallowed, looking over the lean, muscled form, careful not to linger too long at where the rose was placed.

"Are you certain you do not wish to join me?" The Frenchman gave a small tilt of his head, an endearing gesture that had Matthew's flustered heart melt into a gooey puddle of adoration.

"…_Ooooooh_ you don't play fair, Francis!" He whined, covering his hot cheeks with his palms.

Francis laughed, and held out a hand.

Giving the reclined figure a shy smile, the Canadian tentatively reached out and placed his hand into the opened palm.

Before he could wrap his fingers, there was a sudden, curt pull, and, yelping, he lost his balance and ended up falling over Francis' chest.

"-Ehh-Ehhhhhhh----?" He spluttered, face once again blushing into a tomato. Lifting his head and breath hitching in his throat, he realized how close he was to the naked man, their faces mere centimeters from each other's.

"…_Kiss me, Matthieu…_" Francis' low, whispered voice rolled sensually off his tongue, and Matthew, breathless and eyes round, felt heat gravitating towards somewhere southward.

Gulping, he bit his lips, and the Frenchman gave a suggestive wiggle of perfectly-arched eyebrows.

"…O-Okay…If…If you say so…" Murmuring, cheeks still stained red, he leaned closer.

Francis' eyes were half-lidded and fluttered lazily, a seductive smile ever present.

A breath away from the anticipating kiss, Matthew, taking one last look at the captivating, ocean-blue eyes before they disappeared behind a flurry of blond eyelashes, closed his own and puckered his lips.

"…_Matthieu…"_

He could feel the heat of Francis' lips.

"…_Matthieu…!"_

A soft brush…A soft gasp…He leaned closer—

"**-Matthieu!"**

He jolted awake, eyes blinking rapidly.

Francis's face was hovering above his, worry lessening from his facial expression a little with a relieved sigh, though it was still evident in his eyes.

"How are you feeling?"

Matthew blinked; _…What…?_

Francis must've taken notice of his confusion, for he answered: "You hit your head when the ceiling fell; I was so worried…" He sighed, running a hand through his slightly messy blond hair; Matthew stared at the ash and dust smeared across the Frenchman's cheeks.

…_What's going on? …Weren't they just—_

Eyes widening into realization and muffling a strangled sound of embarrassment, the Canadian shot up from his position lying down, narrowly missing hitting his forehead against Francis'. Suddenly feeling light-headed and nauseous, he groaned. The Frenchman tutted quietly, and carefully guided him to lie down once more.

…_I-I was—I was…Matthew! What were you__** thinking **__having a dream like that? …At a time like this too!_ He could not find words adequate enough to describe how glad he was that Francis still wore his gloves and did not stumble upon his shameless fantasy.

"…Matthieu?" Francis tilted his head, questioning, though the gesture only made the strawberry blonde blush even harder as it reminded the younger man of a similar quirk of head from a guilty, pleasurable dream.

"…I-I'm okay…" Matthew gave a weak laugh, avoiding Francis' eyes, and looked around the best he could. "…Wh-Where's Ms. Boyer?"

…That's right…Arthur and the others had started the exorcism; he was instructed, along with Francis, to help the still rather shaken woman out of the hotel when the demon thrashed against the ceiling, causing parts of it to collapse.

They had been, unfortunately, under one of those parts, but, luckily, had survived somehow.

Ms. Boyer was coughing, looking over her body for injuries, but saw nothing worse than scrapes.

Feeling a little better, Matthew slowly sat up again with Francis' help, and looked up at the big pile of broken cement and thick, ripped wires a few steps from where they were. The ground shook every once in a while, and cries could be heard shouted back and forth behind the wall of debris.

A cold, sinking feeling of fear clenched around Matthew's heart; they were blocked out.

No…Arthur, Alfred, Yao, and Ivan were sealed in…

Pushing onto his feet and giving the worried Frenchman a reassuring smile, the Canadian dusted off his arms and legs, sneezing as a thin layer of ashes flew up in the process. He made to approach the heap of broken ceiling, but Francis placed a gentle, but firm hand on his shoulder.

Shaking his head, the taller man explained: "There's still a chance for it to topple over depending on what's happening on the other side. I'm afraid there's nothing we can do." Sighing, he turned Matthew around and guided him the opposite way, where the door was, partially locked but still accessible. The strawberry blonde still had a lingering gaze, unwilling to give up though it was useless for them to try to make any difference.

"We can…try to climb over it…?" Matthew said in a small, hopeful voice.

"…_Oui,_" Francis said, though he did not look enthusiastic at the idea; "Let us escort Ms. Boyer outside first."

Helping the woman onto her feet, the Frenchman lifted her into his arms, carrying the thin figure bridal style as Matthew cleared their way of small rocks and anything that might be hazardous.

It was cold outside, or perhaps it was the big difference in temperature that made it feel rather chilly. Walking a safe distance away and placing Ms. Boyer carefully onto a bench, Francis looked back at the hotel, sighing as he noted that a thin, dark mist seemed to have enveloped over it.

The middle-aged woman remained silent, and shivered. Matthew was just about to take off his hoodie when Francis shook his head slightly with a soft smile and shrugged off his blazer. Draping it over the lady's shoulders, he was careful not to accidentally touch any raw wounds.

Heaving another sigh, he began attempting to tidy his hair and tug smooth his vest. Adjusting the thin scarf he used as a cravat, he looked up as he heard muffled laughter.

Matthew wore an incredulous, though amused, expression on his face.

"You're_ still_ worrying about your _outfit_?" The Canadian asked with a small, bitten-back smile.

Francis laughed a little; "It's more of a habit, _mon chéri_; it gives me something to do when my mind is restless."

Matthew blinked, and his smile slowly dropped.

"…Matthieu?"

"I…I'm sorry…I shouldn't have assumed—"

"_Mon petit ange_, don't fret." A look of affection softened the Frenchman's expressions; "There is nothing for you to apologize about." He gave two firm kisses on the shorter man's cheeks. "Now, I must ask for a favour from you." He wrapped his hands around the strawberry blonde's.

Matthew looked up with large, crystal-like eyes, nibbling on his lips a little in a nervous manner. "Yeah?" He asked, curious.

"Please stay with Ms. Boyer and care for her; I'm going back to see what's happening."

"Wh-What…No! I'm coming with you! I can't possibly let you go back_ alone_!" The Canadian tugged onto his hands insistently.

"Matthieu, you are still hurt—" He tried to explain, referring to Matthew's injuries from the first exorcism, but was cut off.

"-No! If-If one of us has to go back, let me!" It was as if his suggestion ignited a fuse; Matthew's face became flushed, but out of determination rather than embarrassment.

"Please, Matthieu, listen to me—"

"Don't give me that look, Francis! I have just as much right to go as you—"

"_Je suis désolé, mon amour; je ne peux pas le permettre._" There was a pleading frown on Francis' face, along with a sense of urgency, though his eyes remained soft, voice gentle and patient; however, Matthew could tell he was somewhat upset, as it seemed that whenever Francis became excited in whatever way, French slipped out without his notice._ "Matthieu, s'il te plaît._"

Annoyance flared; it wasn't usual someone meek and passive like him felt this way. But one thing that frustrated him above all else was being treated like a child who always needed protection. How could Francis ask him to agree to do something like that? He was an adult; he could take care of himself. He was a part of the team, so he had just as much duty as the Frenchman had, though the other worked as a team member for a longer time and was more experienced…besides…

...did Francis not think that the worry and fear that something bad might happen was going to be reciprocated from him…?

"I don't speak French, Francis." Pulling his hands away from the taller male and giving a hurt look up into slightly surprised eyes, he stomped away towards the hotel building, mannerism uncannily similar to that of Arthur's.

"-Matthieu!" Francis called, looking back and forth between Ms. Boyer and the offended Canadian, troubled and unsure of what to do.

"…Sir…" A soft voice interrupted his thoughts; Ms. Boyer's eyes did not meet his as she addressed him, "Don't worry about me. There isn't a safer spot than where I am."

"I…I shouldn't simply leave you—"

The woman gave a shake of her head, and turned away.

Brushing both gloved hands through his hair, Francis took a deep breath, suddenly feeling extremely tired with this case.

"_Merci, Madame._" An appreciative smile lightened the mood of his facial expression.

She gave a small nod as reply, and Francis turned, following after Matthew, whose wayward curl bounced to his steps, in quick strides to catch up to the Canadian.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Stealing a few glances at Francis, Matthew felt guilt nipping at him. The Frenchman had his hands on his hips, inspecting the small hill of broken cement with a thoughtful look on his face.

They had not spoken while walking back into the hotel, and already the Canadian was feeling awkward about it. He always ended up telling himself and believing that he was at fault, regardless of whether he truly had been or not. Francis was not pointedly ignoring him of course, as there was absolutely no hostility whatsoever from the taller man. In fact, he felt as inviting and warm-hearted as always, but Matthew still couldn't help but feel bad about what he said.

…_What's wrong with me these days? I'm always saying the wrong things…_He thought, and sighed.

Hearing the sigh, Francis turned his attention away from the rather menacing-looking heap of jaggy rocks to the strawberry blonde beside him.

Giving a few fleeting looks into Francis' kind but wondering eyes, Matthew sighed once more.

"…I'm sorry, Francis…I understand that you were worried about me, and it's totally okay for you to do that; in fact, I'm really touched and grateful for having someone to care enough to worry about me in the first place," He pretended to be fixing the position of his glasses to divert some of his fidgetiness; "I-I guess what I'm trying to say is just that…I…I apologize for blowing you off; it was uncalled for and unnecessary…" He mumbled, voice fading.

Francis remained silent, still and contemplative.

Matthew, not knowing the reason for the Frenchman's silence, took it the wrong way.

"…I—…I understand if you thought it was childish of me and think little of me now after what I did—"

"_Non; non, mon amour!_" Francis cooed, walking closer to the suddenly miserable-looking Canadian; "You jump to conclusions too quickly!" He tutted, chiding a little, though the tone softened as he took the smaller man into a loose embrace. "The stress of this situation is getting out of hand and tiresome; we were both upset and bothered, that was all."

Giving the top of the blonde head a kiss and briefly quirking an eyebrow at the single strand of stubborn curl, Francis leaned away slightly, and motioned at the big, messy stack of collapsed ceiling.

"This is not a good place to climb. I suggest we find where this pile meets a wall, where it is sturdier, and go from there."

The two quickly found a suitable place: the crumpled cement eventually sloped downwards in height as they walked alongside it, until they reached a side wall, where the pile and their path ended. Francis nudged at a few rocks on the bottom with his foot, testing how well they were wedged. Deciding it was sturdy enough, he held out a hand towards Matthew, who took it, and the duo began to make their way up.

They climbed and reached the top without a lot of difficulty, much to their surprise.

Finding a good spot to settle themselves and tilting their heads up, looking onwards, both pairs of eyes widened as the shorter man gasped.

Arthur, with trails of blood along one side of his face, wore a pained scowl as he pushed one of his hands flat against the ground, while the other was outstretched to the side. On the floor, as if burnt into its surface, was a large sigil of complicated symbols and stringed Latin words. The fox demon stood in the middle, glaring with its bright, yellow eyes, roaring as it tried to leave the barrier in which it was imprisoned with. Its cries were cut off, as if sounds from a radio with bad reception. Crackles of energy like lightning flashed around its body and crashed against the invisible walls surrounding it; Arthur winced, biting his teeth, each time the jagged edges of the blasts sliced across the transparent barrier.

The British man was knelt down on one knee; it was clear that the sheer scale of the enchantment was taking its toll, and that he was at his last breaths of strength.

Yao, with what looked like his white horsehair whisk, was painting a large circle around the confined creature with what appeared to be dark ink, huffing in effort and bent down. His dark hair was loose around his pale face, flinging as he turned his attention back and forth, eyes never leaving the line he was drawing.

Vaguely at the back, behind the angered demon, a faint figure of a tall man with dirtied clothes could be seen, striking at a match that refused to light.

Matthew squinted, and thought he saw Ivan cursing under his breath as his hands shook.

"Goddamn it!" A shout of frustration caught the attention of the two watching; Alfred raced out from a corner, skidding to a stop, anxious desperation flashing inside his sharp, blue eyes; one of his hands was bandaged with what looked like a piece of ripped shirt; "Goddamn it, Arthur! I can't find it anywhere! Are you sure it's—"

"Alfred!" Arthur screamed back, suddenly shivering violently; "I can't-I can't hold it up any longer! Hurry! For the love of God HURRY!"

Yao, nearly tripping over bits and pieces of broken rock, finished the circle, which immediately began to glow.

"Y-Yao! Yao!" Ivan's distressed voice was heard; "I-I can't—the matches—they wont—"

Dashing across the room on light feet, the Chinese man threw down his horsehair whisk and grabbed the small match from the Russian's large hands, striking it a few times before throwing it down to retrieve another from a small box on the ground.

"I—I—" Alfred flung his body to all directions, trying to find what he was told to look for, hands in his hair pulling at the blond strands, eyes wild and frantic.

"ALFRED HURRY!" Arthur shouted, voice hoarse; his hand outstretched to the side started to fall.

"What are you looking for?" Matthew shouted out.

"The dagger! _The goddamned dagger!_" Alfred did not even look up; his eyes never stopped scanning his surroundings for the glint of a blade.

Matthew vaguely remembered Yao kicking it away when Arthur, possessed, had tried to stab him with it.

There was a deafening thud followed by a nasty, piercing crack; the barrier was breaking.

"Yao! Where the hell did you throw the fucking dagger?" The panicking American, pushing over a few large rocks, bellowed out.

Yao, head jerking up abruptly, looked around, but did not answer. Giving the tall Russian beside him a few words, Matthew caught a flare of a flame and the lighting of a candle when Ivan pushed off from his spot and started to look around as well.

As Yao rushed to another candle placed a quarter-length of the ink-drawn circle away, Ivan remained close to where he was, kicking anything obstructing his view, scarf flapping behind his back as he moved quickly.

Another deafening thud and piercing crack later, Arthur's bitten-back cry was heard. He had both his hands on the ground by then, trying in vain to keep at least parts of the barrier up.

"ALFRED!" He screamed, and Matthew felt a vicious spasm shake through his body.

He never heard his cousin sound so panic-stricken before.

"FUCK!" The American cursed, though his anxious rage did not cloud his sight. His eyes remained wide-open and alert.

Matthew felt a surge of admiration towards the other blonde.

"-In the corner!" Francis suddenly shouted, a hand shooting out, pointing in the general direction of where Ivan was; "Ivan! Behind you! BEHIND YOU!"

It was then Matthew saw the dagger, its glinting tip barely visible wedged between two large blocks of broken cement, propped high on a small mound of a partially fallen wall.

The Russian turned, but it was clear he could not see it from his angle.

"Ivan!" Matthew hollered out with all his might, "It's at the top between two rocks!"

Ivan immediately began to climb; Alfred ran at neck-breaking speed towards that corner.

Arthur fell onto both knees, and Matthew gasped.

"HURRY! _HURRY!_" He urged his teammates faster.

Beside him, Francis watched, eyes unblinking and wide, back stiff and hands clenched.

With a laboured grunt, Ivan threw aside one of the rocks, and grabbed onto the blade with his hands, barely wincing. Pulling it out, he wasted no time for words and merely aimed in Alfred's general direction and threw.

The dagger clattered onto the floor. Alfred was steps away, and extended his hands out to grasp onto its handle.

A broken, pained cry was heard as an explosion of what sounded like shattering glass filled the lobby, and Arthur fell to the ground.

The demon roared, and charged at the American.

"-YAO! LIGHT THE CANDLE! _THE CANDLE!_" Arthur, struggling up, screamed out. "IT MUSTN'T LEAVE THE CIRCLE!"

A last flare of flame was seen, and the last candle was lit.

The demon sped towards Alfred, jaws opening, showing long, sharp teeth, as it bore down upon the still running figure.

Alfred's fingers stretched open, and his eyes widened, the dagger inches from his grasp.

The demon gorged down; there was an outburst of cement smashing into rubble as huge clouds of dust blew up into the air.

"—ALFRED!" Matthew wasn't sure who screamed when a rough, strained cry interrupted.

Short, blond hair flinging around his face, the American grabbed the dagger tightly between his fingers. Having dived down towards the short blade, he only narrowly missed the demon's attack. Swinging around on his feet and letting out a forceful scream, eyes focused and glinting fiercely, he pushed his arms out with all his strength—

-and stabbed the dagger into the demon's neck.

There was a horrible stillness and silence before the demon shrieked, and a hurricane of sounds erupted inside the vast room.

Alfred's scream mingled with it, and, muscles trembling with effort, he twisted the silver blade, and sliced up.

The wretched sound of flesh been slashed open was distinct even amongst havoc.

The demon flung backwards, a screech ringing in everyone's ears. It pierced through Matthew's eardrums like a drill, and felt as though it twisted and stabbed into his head. He screamed with it, hands pressing against his ears-

-And, suddenly, it was no more.

Matthew's body still shook; his breaths were just as shaky.

Francis remained unmoving, watching.

Arthur, relieved, collapsed completely and rolled onto his back, eyes fluttering close.

Yao stood on his spot close to the last candle that was lit, appearing to be holding his breath.

Ivan was still on the little mound of broken wall, watching, lips pressed together and eyes wide.

Alfred, arms now limp at his sides, took silent breaths between opened lips.

…Everything was still aside from Arthur's heavy breathing…

"……_Damn_…" Alfred's voice echoed through the lobby, "…We need to get me a bigger sword…"

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

(I decided to not translate words/phrases reoccurring or that have been translated before in previous chapters, which are usually pet names or "thank you" or something obvious enough to figure out like "Madame")

_Mon petit ange_ – My little angel

_Je suis désolé, mon amour; je ne peux pas le permettre._ – I'm sorry, my love; I cannot allow it.

_Matthieu, s'il te plaît._ – Matthieu, please.

**Ending Notes:** AHAHAHAHA! How many people were thinking "WTF?" at the beginning of the chapter? ;) Betcha didn't expect that~~ -dodges tomatoes thrown- OI! Romano's gonna be pissed when he sees you throwing his food around!

I love France too much to not give him a chance to blatantly grace the world with his naked glory, and his rose. :D

I_ really_ hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter; sorry if it was a little short. Please don't hurt me!

I'm not sure if Alfred's outbursts of swear words requires me to bump the rating of this story up to an "M"; **please let me know if it's required!** It'll end up being "mature" eventually anyways (hint, hint; wink, wink), but I'm just not sure if it's necessary for now with two mentions of the F-word 'cause, come on, everyone's heard them (If you haven't heard the F-word before and donno what it means, you can pretend it's a species of birds or something XD). BUT _I will definitely change it to "M" if it is in fact needed_. =) I just donno what's considered as "strong coarse language" nowadays.

The first case is almost finished! The idea for the second case is already formed and ready. Next chapter will be a combination of some wrapping up with a nasty surprise for poor Ivan, and also a filler-ish portion.

Last but not the least: _Thank you guys so, so much for everything once again!_ Y'all know I love you! …Since I already told you in the _Author's Notes_ at the beginning; tsk tsk if you didn't read it!

And also, to anonymous/unsigned reviewers: Sorry I can't reply to you, but please know that I appreciate your words very much, and thank you with marshmallows! -hugs-

OH! OH!

Ok I swear this is the last-last thing XD

**HALLOWEEN SPECIAL:** So far _Choice #3 – Ivan's Vodka Search_ is taking the lead, but _just barely_. Because of that (and also 'cause I really hate to say "no" to you guys…_damnit_ you're making me into a wuss!) I decided that I will definitely try my best to do all of them. Yes, you heard me, ALL OF THEEEEM, like what some of you greedy little sweethearts suggested. ;)

BUT – here comes the big "but" unfortunately – I can't guarantee that I will be able to actually write all three, BUT – another big "but" – if I end up not being able to write all of them at once, would you guys be interested in reading them if they were posted on different days? Maybe after Halloween or something?

Anyways, let me know what you think, yeah? :D

Ok, I'll shut up now 'cause I just wasted like an entire page on Microsoft Words typing my ending note.

No wait…Hold on, one more thing:

…Please? Review…? …A few words…? ;;_;;

-is smacked-


	9. CASE1: Hedgewood Hotel, Part 8

**Author's Notes:** LAST PART OF CASE ONE!

On this special occasion,** I would like to thank all my reviewers, subscribers, people who favourited, people who visited, and everyone's continuous support!**

Seriously you guys make me feel so special and loved; this story is for all of you wonderful peeps! So please enjoy this extra long chapter! :D

Ps: I know some of you have been wondering what Alfred's supernatural power is, and, as I was messaging with _The Adversary_, I realized I probably should mention something about it. It's nothing fancy…well…you'll know when you get there LOL

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

"Wh-What…_What happened here?_" Mr. Moore, shock all over his body language and facial expression, turned in a slow circle, looking around the damage done to his hotel lobby, arms raised and hands clenching in his hair.

After the right authorities were called to clear away the large pieces of cement, the team had contacted the couple, who arrived shortly after.

Arthur wore a rather sheepish expression, and looked like he wanted to sneak away from standing beside Alfred, who scratched the back of his head and gave an awkward laugh.

"Erm…well…at least…at least you _definitely_ won't be having any more problems!" The American tried to put on a bright grin, but it faltered as Mr. Moore sent him a glare.

"You call_ this_ 'solving problems'!" The man raged, gesturing wildly at the wide, gaping hole in the ceiling and the burned marks all over the walls.

"…Uhhhh…" Alfred blinked, and Mr. Moore crossed his arms, expecting an answer with an expression screaming displeasure, to say the least. Not knowing what to say to the angry man, the American nudged his team mate with his elbow, who stumbled.

"Bloody hell Alfred! Stop that!"

Arthur sent a grumbled curse and rubbed his arm where Alfred's elbow not-so-gently hit.

"_Say something, Arthur!_" Alfred whispered, though it wasn't very discreet since their client stood right in front of them.

"You didn't have to attack my arm!"

"I was just trying to—"

"_-Well?_" Mr. Moore interrupted, looking quite intimidating, determined to get a reasonable reply.

Arthur cleared his throat, and looked around, hands on his hips. He studied the slightly singed bottom edge of his cloak with keen interest.

Muttering about how the British man always had so much to say but never at the right time, Alfred sighed and brushed a hand through messy hair; "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Moore. I'm afraid there was nothing else we could've done about your lobby under the given circumstances. We did all we could just to _stay live_ let along—…and-and, well…besides, no other parts of the hotel were really damaged—"

The man bristled; "-_This_ damage alone is enough to—"

"-Why don't you go check the rest of the building and see how it is, honey?" Mrs. Moore quickly interjected, ushering the fuming man away. Once her husband was out of earshot, she gave a small, apologetic smile towards Alfred and Arthur.

"Please don't mind him. He's just been overwhelmed with what's been happening; he's not really mad at _you_."

"It's quite alright, madam; we expected such a reaction." Arthur nodded, straightening his back, professionalism returning.

"…Where was _that_ a few seconds ago?" Alfred sent the Brit a look, which was ignored.

"So…What should my husband and I do now? Is it…Is it over?" Mrs. Moore shifted on her feet, hopeful and eager for a positive answer.

"You can both go back to your lives before all of this began. There might still be guests requesting to stay in room 105 who will disappear the day after, but it will be a natural process for them to move on, so they will not cause any disturbances. In other words, I am confident that there will not be any more problems, so yes, it is over." Arthur smiled, exhaustion lessening a little from his shoulders as he gave a relieved sigh, to which Mrs. Moore reciprocated with one of her own.

"Phew! What a relief!" She looked down, though her expression was content, and a small grin appeared on her face.

"You should smile more, ma'am," Alfred chirped up, "You're really pretty when you do that." He gestured a small wave with his hand, and gave a playful wink.

The woman blushed, and Arthur elbowed the American in the stomach.

"OW! What was that for?"

"No flirting with the client! …and also payback." Arthur looked extremely pleased, and gave Alfred a challenging look.

Mrs. Moore, still slightly pink in the cheeks, coughed a little, and the two blondes looked up with attention; "I'll send over the payments as soon as everything's figured out; would that be alright?"

"Yep!" Alfred nodded. Looking over to Arthur, he added, "You got a problem with that, Mr. Stingy-Pants?"

Arthur's pleased expression immediately changed into a scowl; "What did you just call me?"

"What happened to '_how can you agree to it so easily?_', and, '_if anything she should at least first pay us for making a trip there_'?" Alfred's fake British accent was horrendous, and Arthur would've been angrier at what the American said if it weren't for how downright horrifying it was.

"…I don't sound like _that_!"

"You _so_ do!"

"I do _not_!"

"You _always_ sound like a pissed-off old man."

"I _beg_ your—_why_ you little—"

"-Gentlemen!" Mrs. Moore cut in before the two could start an argument, "I have…I have another question."

Arthur sent one last dark glare of "this isn't over yet" to the smug-looking blonde beside him before turning back to their client; "Yes, madam?"

"Well, I was wondering if…if it'd be okay for you to—to take the painting…" Her voice dropped a little.

Alfred frowned, "Why?"

The woman became a little fidgety; "…To say the truth…I'm still a little wary of it, and it isn't as though my husband and I are extremely fond of it anyways, so…" She looked a little embarrassed, tucking a strand of fallen hair behind her ear.

"Of course," Arthur nodded, "We understand."

"Thank you." Mrs. Moore smiled.

"Free painting? Score!" Alfred gave a swing of an arm as if claiming victory.

"Have you no shame?" A disgruntled grimace from Arthur followed.

"Shame? What's that?" The American flashed a toothy grin pointedly at him.

A hand pushed the beaming face away; "You're impossible, Jones."

To that Alfred stuck out his tongue.

~o0o0o0o~

Watching the two blondes interact from a small distance away, Matthew laughed a little, shaking his head at the rather childish way they argued with one another.

Nudging around a small pebble on the floor, he waited for Francis to return from walking Ms. Boyer home.

"…I'm sorry, Ivan…" A voice caught his attention, and he turned with curiosity.

The tall Russian was looking into the fish tank closest to them, hands pressed against the glass, unmoving, while Yao had a gentle hand on his arm, expression empathetic and sad.

Worried and wondering what was going on, the Canadian quietly walked over.

Ivan stood quite close to the fish tank, so it was hard to see his face. Stopping a few feet away from the duo as to not disturb them, Matthew turned to look into the tank himself.

And a loud gasp of dismay left his lips.

The glass was dirty with dust and grime, but, through the layer of smudged filth, vague shapes of fish could be seen, all floating at the very top of the water, pale undersides upwards and eyes lifeless, staring orbs.

Covering his still slightly opened mouth with a shaky hand, Matthew blinked away rising tears, and turned his head once more towards the tall man unmoving from his spot.

Ivan was crying.

His eyes were open, unblinking, as silent tears fell down along his cheeks in streams, shinning in the shadow, though he paid no heed to them. His lips were pressed together, not quite tightly, but firmly.

Matthew's heart clenched painfully, but he could not look away from how devastated the Russian was behind his glassy, wide eyes.

"…Ivan…" Yao spoke softly, trying to offer comfort, "We'll…We'll buy you a fish tank when we go back to New York, aru…and…you can choose your own fish, okay…?"

Ivan did not move, hands still pressed against the dirty glass, mourning.

"…Would you like that…?" The Chinese man asked again, but his tone remained gentle.

After a while, Ivan spoke.

"…Да…я хотел бы это…" He whispered, lips barely moving.

Yao looked between the fish tank and the towering man, and decided it was best to stop staring at death in the face.

"Come; let's go outside, aru…" He tugged on Ivan's arm a little, though it was several silent moments later that the heartbroken man moved, following him out of the hotel lobby.

Watching the two disappear through the door, Matthew sighed, his heart heavy and saddened. Biting his lips, he turned away from the glass as well; the dead, gawking eyes of the floating fish were starting to make him uneasy, and reminded him of—

…

The Canadian wished Francis would return as soon as possible.

As if answering to his prayers, the Frenchman, a minute or two after, appeared through the front door, looking back with a worried frown before catching Matthew's eyes.

"What happened to Ivan?" He asked as he approached the shorter blonde.

"…Well…" Matthew hesitated for a brief second, "…You know how much he loved the fish right…?" and pointed at the tank behind him.

Francis walked close to the glass and paused.

"…Oh dear…" A quiet exclaim was heard.

"Yeah…Yao's trying to comfort him, but he looked pretty upset…" Matthew rubbed his nose, face tilting downwards as his eyebrows furrowed sadly.

"…Are you upset too, _mon chéri_?" Francis came close once more, and pulled the strawberry blonde closer for a firm kiss on the top of his head.

"Yeah I guess…" Matthew blinked, leaning closer to the Frenchman, "…A little bit…"

Blinking slowly, the taller one smiled, though it was a rather somber; "Perhaps you and Ivan will make good friends."

"…Doesn't it make you sad too though?" The Canadian murmured.

"_Mon amour_…death is always sorrowful."

They remained in a loose embrace until Alfred and Arthur interrupted, asking them to inform Ivan and Yao to regroup and go through a body check for injuries as requested by the paramedics that arrived.

It was strange that not many questions were asked regarding the damage to the hotel building; it was as if the whole town somewhat knew about what was happening but simply chose to pretend obliviousness.

When told about the deceased fish, Alfred cried out an "Aww _maaaan_! I sure hope they weren't expensive!" before a kick in the shin from Arthur shut him up.

"Alfred," Matthew asked when the American stopped groaning and clutching his leg, "I was wondering eh…would it be alright for us to get a fish tank when we get back to New York?"

Alfred looked confused.

"Ivan's pretty down about it…About the dead fish I mean…" The Canadian bit his lips, "Yao's been comforting him with the promise of getting him a tank, so…I-I just don't want that promise to turn out empty…" He trailed off, rubbing his nose once more.

"Of course we can get one, Mattie!" Matthew looked up, more surprised at the sudden nickname than the quick agreement. "But you have to make Ivan promise he'd clean it and stuff."

A smile instantly blossomed on Matthew's face; "Oh _thank you_, Alfred!" Beaming up at the taller male, he threw his arms around the American and pulled him into a tight hug.

"O-Oof!" Wind knocked out of his lungs from the sudden, unexpected gesture, Alfred adjusted his slightly crooked glasses, and laughed, patting the top of Matthew's head.

Arthur wore a comical expression of flustered astonishment at Matthew's rather impulsive action, silently wishing he was the one being patted on the head and embraced by strong arms.

Francis bit back a chuckle at how obvious the British man was at trying to hide his discomfort and…was that a little bit of jealousy too? Deciding to join in on the fun of the loving moment, he grinned as a mischievous shimmer appeared in his eyes.

"-_Ooooh, tant d'amour!_" Throwing his arms wide open, he tugged the unsuspecting Brit into a tight snuggle.

The green-eyed one practically jumped and immediately began to blush profusely, spluttering a combination of "WHA-HOW-I BEG YOUR—" and incomprehensible gurgles of surprise.

"…G-GET OFF OF ME, BONNEFOY!" won out in the end, and Arthur began to struggle in earnest, pushing at the Frenchman's chest, face flushing redder as the taller, longer-haired one didn't even budge.

"_Un baiser aussi, Arthur~~?_" Just to annoy the thrashing man, Francis tilted his face and puckered his lips.

"A-AAARGH! G-Go—_baiser_ yourself, you bloody pervert!" A slap met his amourous intent.

It took Alfred and Matthew a good five minutes to stop laughing hysterically at the stunned look on Francis' face at the slap while Arthur fumed like an angry tomato.

~o0o0o0o0o~

"Well, that's the last of 'em." Alfred wiped a hand across his slightly damp forehead, trademark grin on his face.

All the equipments were placed back into the van with most of the team's luggage. Ivan volunteered to drive again to avoid what occurred on their trip coming to Hedgewood. He stood beside the driver's door, large hands inside his coat pockets with a soft smile on his face. He was significantly calmer than the day before, which he spent in silence with sadness constantly swimming in his round eyes after the team held a small funeral for the fish.

"…Why did they have to die…?" He had asked in a small, hurt voice after his aquatic friends were buried, face downcast, cheeks stained by fresh tears. His lips hid behind his scarf, which seemed to offer him a little emotional comfort.

No one knew how to answer his question.

Yao only reached over a hand, and held the Russian's larger one, fingers intertwining.

Looking at the tall man now, he was definitely more at peace, as he believed the fish were at a better place and loved.

Matthew, tugging his suitcase behind him, wondered how many long coats the Russian owned, since he wore nothing else since the day they'd met. What was even more curious was, however, the long scarf, which Ivan carefully washed when they finally were able to return to their hotel rooms for much needed rest. It was now clean and good as new, and waved lazily in the wind.

"Mr. and Mrs. Moore wish us a safe trip home and send their sincerest of thanks." Francis said as he neared the car, making his last trip from the hotel with his belongings. He wore another ensemble of rich colours and expensive fabrics with a handsome smile on his face.

Yao, mumbling about a trip to the drycleaner's as soon as they get back to New York for the robes he wore during the exorcism, walked through the front gates of the hotel grounds alongside Arthur, having just gotten back from early morning tea with the British man. They reached the rest of the group as Francis put the last of his bags into the trunk.

"Look at what _we_ had to do while you were off enjoying yourselves," The Frenchman lifted an eyebrow as Yao and Arthur stopped by the parked vehicle.

Arthur rolled his eyes; "It's good exercise for your lanky arms, Bonnefoy."

"You know nothing of my arms, which are beautifully sculpted." Francis retorted with a flare of blond hair and a confident, if not slightly smug, smirk, eyes twinkling under bright sunlight.

The British man scoffed, but chose not to comment. Turning towards Matthew and Alfred, he made an awkward gesture that was half a wave and half a nudge, "Thank you for getting my things." He nodded to Matthew, and lingered his eyes as they met Alfred's.

The two looked at each other for an awfully long time before turning away stiffly and blushing.

Confused, Matthew glanced at Francis, who leaned over to him and whispered: "When we are alone, Matthieu; it is quite a story." The Canadian's cheeks pinked a little at how the taller man's eyes glittered and seemed to dance in amusement, knowing whatever that made the Frenchman so tickled must be something definitely worth a listen to.

Not to mention it implicated that they were going to be _alone_…

The shameful, badly-timed dream suddenly popped back into Matthew's head (he can never look at roses the same way ever again), and he hastily nodded in answer to Francis' suggestion. Looking away, he studied nearby shrubs with all the concentration he could muster in an attempt at calming his racing heart at how close Francis was…and briefly wondered about the older male's "beautifully sculpted" arms…

_Oooooh! Matthew! Stop it!_ Shaking the thoughts away but flushing redder, he mumbled something incomprehensive even to his own ears and scurried away, with Francis looking at him with a confused expression.

Just as the Frenchman was going to follow after the suddenly flustered strawberry blonde and ask what was wrong, he noticed someone else walking through the front gates of the hotel.

"…Ms. Boyer?" The team turned, alerted by Francis' voice, towards the woman fiddling with the scarf she wrapped around her head and smiling at them.

A taxi was parked outside of the gates, waiting for her to return.

"Hello," She greeted.

Motioning at the taxi, Alfred asked, "Are you leaving today too?"

She nodded; "I wanted to thank you one more time before I leave."

"Nah, it was nothing!" Alfred gave a dismissive wave, though he looked very pleased with himself; "It's our job, after all! Besides, what kind of a hero would I be—"

"-Yes yes yes bloody hero speech…" Arthur swatted the American away, to which the taller blonde replied with a cheeky "Yes, Mom!" and earning a glare from the British man. "We are glad to have helped, though it is us who should thank _you_, since we couldn't have completed this case without you." Arthur gave a respectable smile, bowing a little like a true gentleman.

Ms. Boyer, a little surprised at the formal mannerism, nodded.

"I would've lived my entire life with that burden if I hadn't done what I did." Taking a deep breath and one last look at the hotel, she waved her hand in farewell; "Good bye, and thank you once again."

The team waved back, some uttering a return farewell, with the most prominent one being Ivan's "Bye-byyyyye~~".

"You can be quite charming when you want to be, Arthur." Francis' smooth murmur was heard as they began to file into the car.

"And you can kiss my arse." Was Arthur's reply.

"It is truly a wonder, not to mention a miracle, that you are actually related to my darling little Matthieu…" The Frenchman shook his head, blond strands of hair swishing back and forth, shimmering under the sun.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Alfred's voice was heard next, "I know he's a stuck up twat, but you don't have to rub it all over in his face, yeah?"

There was a shocked silence before Matthew spluttered into giggles, Francis quickly joining in with loud laughter.

"…I'd appreciate it if you don't try to defend me, Alfred…" Arthur sighed, completely embarrassed; "Do you even_ know_ what 'twat' _actually_ _means_?"

And the van drove off, swerving sharply at a turn as another argument erupted between the British man and the American, who threw a half-empty water bottle at the former in retaliation, but ended up hitting Ivan on the head.

The Russian was hardly pleased, gently rubbing the swelling bump on his head with a whined protest in his native language, and returned the favour by throwing the bottle back.

Before long, it erupted into a full-out war in which the water bottle was thrown back and forth between the two like a missile, while the other passengers in the van shouted fearfully for their lives as the vehicle swerved erratically between lanes on the freeway.

The case closed to success, though Matthew doubted the same could be applied to them returning to New York without being pulled over for another expensive ticket.

.

…

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

…

.

Throwing himself onto the bed, he bit back angry tears and hugged his pillow tightly against his chest.

_He may have been the youngest of the group, but that didn't mean he was a child!_

_Why doesn't anyone tell him anything?_

_Always "protected"…Always unaware…_

…_Always the last to know…_

…_Just like with—_

A knock on the door interrupted his train of thoughts.

He decided to ignore it.

After a few moments of silence, the person outside the door knocked again, and called, voice muffled but generally distinct: "…Matthieu?"

While he was glad Francis came to see how he was, a part of him also felt let-down that it was not Arthur who stood outside his door.

Snuggling deeper into the bed sheets and pillows, he mumbled a "go away", though he knew no one else except for him had heard it.

A soft click of the door being opened could be heard, and Francis stepped in, but remained lingering at the doorway.

"…Matthieu…Are you asleep?" It was a question for the sake of something to say; it was impossible for anyone to fall asleep that quickly, except for maybe Alfred.

"…Yes." Matthew answered nonetheless in a curt tone, though its sharpness was muffled by the pillow he pressed his face against.

The team had just returned to New York a few days ago, and all had been fine until…well…

…

_Matthew stood still, eyes wide, dismay grasping his heart with icy fingers as he stared unblinkingly and in disbelief at what Alfred had just said._

"…_Wh-What do you mean, she's completely gone?" His voice was loud, forced, strained as he tried to keep it even._

_Arthur looked at the other people in the room, who did not meet his eyes as they were all watching Matthew warily combined with various other emotions. Sighing, he decided to be the messenger despite of the fact that it was always the messenger that gets blamed._

"_She…She was consumed as soon as she relinquished her control of the demon…she'd gotten herself involved with something she didn't know anything about, and this was the consequence." He said, tone professional as if lecturing to a class._

"_B-But she was cleansed, was she not? All the other spirits that were consumed were all saved, were they not? Doesn't that mean she moved on too?" Matthew's eyes grew wider._

"_In normal cases…yes, but this was hardly normal, Matthew…she…stepped too deep and was bound—"_

"_-Did all of you know about this?"_

_No one replied, though the answer was clear._

"…_Why am I the only one who did not know?" When, still, no one, not even Francis, uttered a word, he saw red._

"_Why am I __**always**__ the only one who__** did not know**__?" His voice broke into a full shout of anger._

"…_Well you didn't really ask—" Alfred began but was instantly silenced by a dark glare from Arthur._

"_I'm sorry, Matthew. There was nothing else we could do for her." The British man spoke softly._

"…_This is not the only reason I'm upset, Arthur…" Matthew's head was down; there was a tremour in his voice. "If…If anyone you should…you should've know that I don't…I don't like being lied to—"_

"_-I didn't lie to you—"_

"_-It was as bad as a lie!" The Canadian cried out, hands clenched into fists at his sides, shaking, "Not telling me for my…for__** my own good**__ so I won't be upset…__**what you don't know can't harm you**__…" He bit his teeth, and hissed out._

_Arthur did not know what to say. It was not his intention to create a situation similar to that of one the Canadian has always been extremely sensitive about. He knew the trauma was too great and never healed with time, and its guilt still haunted his younger cousin in his sleep._

_Alfred, not knowing Matthew's history or when to shut up, put his hands on his hips and called out, "__**Geez**__, Mattie, just __**chill**__, will ya? It's sad and unfortunate yeah, blah blah blah…but it wasn't as if we could've done anything. It was too late anyways. She did this to herself you know—"_

"_-Alfred just__** shut up**__!" Arthur cut in with a harsh growl._

"…_It was too late…it's __**always**__ too late…" Matthew rubbed his eyes, though his tears were unseen, voice bitter and expression a grimace of disgust. "…Self-justifying bastards — __**who gave you the right to decide for someone else?**__" Shouting out his last statement with all his might, he turned around and left the team in the living room, walking in large strides to escape to his bedroom in hope for some peace and quiet to calm his racing heart._

…

He knew he was being overly dramatic and childish despite of his conflicting intentions to present himself in a mature manner, and caused too much of a scene to his liking.

But what could he have done? All of a sudden it was as if back at the hospital again, listening to his self-justifying father explain to him why he refused to tell him about the true conditions of his dying mother until it was too late and she had already breathed her last breath while he was playing with Arthur in his house, completely oblivious.

His father was crying, begging him to understand. _To understand what?_ That he, out of denial and fear of his wife's failing health, lied to his son over and over again and continuously fed false hope to his young, trusting heart that his Mommy was going to be fine as before she got ill?

With a reasonable reaction any toddler would make, he threw a violent tantrum and ran out of the hospital…

…and saw his father being crushed under a truck that could not stop in time as they raced across the street.

The blood was warm as it splattered onto his tiny body, steps away from his father's face, frozen in mid-shout for his son to wait, eyes glassy and dead as a tear still slide down his bloody, ripped cheeks.

A hand suddenly touched his shoulder, and he screamed.

Francis, hovering over him, jumped, frightened by the reaction; the hand that was meant as a gentle gesture was still raised in the air.

The room was filled with sounds of his harsh breathing.

A lengthy while passed while they stared at each other, one pair of eyes blankly and the other with slight fright and immense worry.

Francis, slowly as to not frighten him again, reached down once more, and cupped a hand around one of his cheeks. It was warm beneath soft velvet, and he leaned into it, sighing as his heart stopped racing, and memories were pushed to the back of his mind once again.

"…Matthieu—"

"-I'm sorry…" He paused, "I shouldn't have acted as I did."

Francis sighed; "Matthieu—"

"-No." He shook his head, "I was…out of line, eh…?" He laughed a little, already feeling better having the Frenchman with him. "I'll be fine…There are just some things that…make me a little mad, that's all."

Francis didn't voice out his concern as to which definition of "mad" his little Matthieu meant.

Simply nodding, the taller man shifted to sit on the side of the bed, and pulled Matthew up into his arms.

They remained that way for a long moment of silence before Francis spoke up.

"Arthur wanted to come to apologize."

Matthew blinked, surprised.

"I thought you should know, Matthieu, that, while it is difficult for him to say it, he cares deeply for you.

"…He wanted to come in, but I beat him to it." Francis chuckled, "I'm sure he's sulking about it right at this moment."

Matthew laughed a little, and Francis' felt a surge of warmth envelope his heart, alongside with relief.

"…Maybe I should go find him," Matthew said, "Arthur, I mean…"

"_Non; non, mon amour!_" Francis shook his head, "You mustn't do that yet. Give Alfred a chance to awkwardly comfort him, _oui_?"

"…Fiiiine…" There was a smile in Matthew's voice. "Speaking of that…what happened between them when I was…you know…unconscious at the hotel?"

Francis blinked slowly, humming a little.

"Initially, Arthur was in a stupor after the failed exorcism, but was shaken out of it, and wept in Alfred's arms. He was feeling exceptionally guilty; he believed that the failure had been his fault, as was your injury. Afterwards, he stayed by your side, refusing food, and would not say a word. You should've seen Alfred's troubled face; for all the time since I met him, I've never seen him as distraught as he was, looking at the burgers Arthur discarded; I think he was quite devastated and hurt." Chuckling in a manner that was not all humourous, the Frenchman continued; "When Arthur refused to sleep, however, I think that was when he crossed the line. There was nothing wrong with him being worried, of course, but I'm sorry to say he didn't make the situation any better – we were all intensely worried for both you _and_ for him by that point.

"…Alfred got angry…"

…

"_Goddamn it, Arthur!" Fingers clenching around Arthur's shirt collars, Alfred shouted, eyes blazing with despaired fury and face taut with tension, "I'm tired of this shitty attitude of yours!"_

_Arthur, eyes narrowing, growled; "Get your hands off of me, Jones." He whispered, eyes shinning and lips pressed thin._

"_I can't believe—can you not see that you're just making everything worse?" The American was so upset he could barely express his emotions adequately._

_Arthur started to struggle._

"_No! You listen to me!" Alfred gave the smaller man a shake, "Snap out of it and look at what you're doing!"_

"_What I'm doing? Why you little—What's wrong with what I'm doing!" Shouting back, Arthur's struggles increased in strength._

"_You're making everybody worried sick about you too! What can you do for Matthew sitting there not eating anything and refusing to sleep?"_

"…_So that's your grand plan, Jones! Telling me I'm useless—"_

"_-Oh for fuck's sakes, Arthur! Stop putting words into my mouth!"_

"_What I do is none of your concern! If you want to be of use, find out a way to solve the case instead of loitering about doing nothing! What have you done so far aside from reading pointless data in front of your fancy equipments?"_

_There was a dead-panged silence when Francis face-palmed out of exasperation._

_Of all the things Arthur could've said…_

_Alfred's jaws were bitten-set as he stood, hands still fisted around Arthur's shirt collars, eyes flashing as they stared hard into the British man's._

_And then he spoke, voice low and trembling with passionate anger._

"…_I don't have special abilities, and I'm not smart like you, __**but let me tell you something, Arthur Kirkland**__, no matter what happens, I will always believe in my team and that we'll succeed through whatever bad times we go through." His voice was uncannily serious; "That's why __**I'm**__ here. And you said it yourself that what we do is dangerous, and if you can't even handle __**you**__, then take your worthless self-hate and get out of my sight." He shoved the British man back, who stumbled and fell onto the bed, looking up, stunned._

"…_We're all worried about Matthew, but sitting on your ass and moping doesn't do __**shit**__, alright? If you want to help, at least find a way to make him get better faster, if not, the least you can do is stop creating more pointless problems for us to worry about with your…your stupid…burger-hating!"_

_Alfred's breaths were the only sounds in the room before a shuffle was heard as Arthur suddenly stood up, face expressionless, inches from the American's._

_They stood, unmoving, glaring at each other._

_The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife._

"…_and what are you going to do about it, Jones?" Arthur whispered, eyes challenging._

_Alfred, giving a humourless smirk, hissed back: "__**Fuck you, Kirkland.**__" And crushed a bruising kiss against Arthur's lips._

_For several moments, they battled, half pushing each other away yet pulling closer. It wasn't till Arthur's legs hit the bedside table when Francis voiced out his concern._

"_As much as I enjoy the show, messieurs, please move on to another room; you might fall and smother mon petit Matthieu with your passionate selves."_

_Not needing to be told twice, Alfred forced himself away from the heated kiss, and, without a word, tugged a half-dazed Arthur behind him, walking in large strides out of the door towards his own hotel room._

…

Matthew's cheeks were bright red, staring at Francis as he finished his story.

"S-So they…did they—" He stuttered.

"-Unfortunately, no," Francis sighed wistfully, "Alfred told me the next day that, as he was pulling their clothes off, Arthur seemed to suddenly realize what was happening and smacked him on the head before pushing him off the bed. However, he managed to get Arthur to eat some food before going to sleep, on separate beds of course."

"…Oh…"

"Quite disappointing, _non_?"

"W-Well…yeah…I suppose…" Matthew looked away, embarrassed as his mind produced a rather detailed mental image.

Francis carefully watched the Canadian as he rubbed his eyes, biting his soft, plump pink lips. It was something habitual, but, nevertheless, was deeply enticing. Sliding a hand around Matthew's waist, and the other cupping around one of his cheeks, the Frenchman pulled the strawberry blonde closer.

It was not a sudden movement, but the younger male was, for some reasons, surprised by how close they had become.

Heart beating loudly inside his chest like a hopping rabbit, Matthew's breath hitched as Francis leant closer.

Their lips brushed gently against each other's.

A shiver shook through his body; he gasped as Francis firmed the kiss, and pressed their bodies flush together. Hearing a deep moan sounding from the taller man's throat, all coherent thoughts flew out from his head, and all he knew was the tingling sensations all over his heated body.

He did not know when he climbed onto Francis' lap, but decided that he liked being there. Large hands roamed over his frame, caressing and pressing him close. Eagerly returning the kiss, if not slightly clumsily, he heard the Frenchman chuckle, and opened his eyes to see ocean-blue, deep and enthralling, desire shimmering in the captivating orbs.

Giving one last, firm peck to the slightly pouting pink lips, Francis tilted his head, soft, smooth hair cascading over his face. With a hand brushing the golden strands away, he nuzzled close to Matthew, and licked his ear, a playful expression on his face.

The Canadian gasped, jolting a little in pleasure, and Francis trailed kisses along the delicate jaw line before making love to the beautiful, creamy-skinned neck that was enthusiastically presented to him, nibbling gently, making seductive suckling sounds.

Matthew gave a soft, breathy moan, and felt heat gather between his legs.

Shifting in slight discomfort, he whimpered, and suddenly, a hand cupped around his arousal.

Eyes snapping open, he gasped; "-W-Wait!"

Francis paused, turning his head a little with a small frown of confusion.

"I—I…It's-It's not that I don't like doing this with you, Francis…" Matthew pulled away slightly, cheeks flushed, lips red and puffy from the kiss, "It's…just that…we haven't known each other for that long and…I-I don't think I'm ready and-and…I-I really _really_ like you – I_ really _do so I don't want you to misunderstand but I just think-I just think—" The Canadian was getting horribly flustered, and Francis silenced him with a small peck.

"I understand, _mon chéri_," He smiled, eyes warm and gaze gentle; "I will wait." He promised.

Breathing a small breath of relief that the handsome man of his dreams (quite literally) understood, Matthew smiled back, and snuggled back into the strong arms wrapping around his body.

"…_Merci_, Francis…"

Outside in the hall, watching from a crack of the opened door, Arthur's lips were pressed together.

The British man had been standing there since he rushed to the door upon hearing a frightened scream, but, as he got there, it seemed that his presence was not needed.

He knew he should be angry at how _Bonnefoy_ was trying to deflower his innocent little cousin (at least that's what it looked like to him, as he strongly believed that the French bastard was a big pervert inside out), however, at the same time, as hard as he tried, he could not shake off the wish that a similar moment could be shared between him and a sometimes obliviously clueless American.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

…Да…я хотел бы это… – …Yes…I would like that… (Ok seriously if it's wrong CORRECT MEH! D: I have no idea if this is right at all 'cause I donno any Russian ;_;)

_Ooooh, tant d'amour!_ – Ooooh, so much love!

_Un baiser aussi, Arthur~~?_ – A kiss also, Arthur~~?

_Messieurs_ – The direct translation I think would be something like "sirs", but in this instance I guess it's more like "gentlemen"?

**Ending Notes:** …That's right! …Alfred has no special powers! XD Before you guys start throwing more tomatoes at me, please hear me out, yeah?

I wanted to keep Alfred a regular human being 'cause I think it just makes his strong will to bring justice to the world, a.k.a. hero-complex all the more admirable. The reason he's even aware of the supernatural at all was very briefly hinted in the very first chapter of how his uncle is a close friend to Arthur's father. Details will be elaborated a lot later on because the second case will be Ivan-centric, but will definitely be explained. :D

Thanks for being patient with me guys!

It always amused me that "_twat_" actually means the vulva, which is the external…parts…of the female genitalia. Combine that with "rubbing all over his face", you get a random joke that I find ridiculously funny but doesn't make much sense! :D

I personally loved the part where Alfred and Ivan were throwing the water bottle back and forth like a missile; I think y'all should know what I mean LOL I have too much fun with these people XD

Again, **please let me know if a higher rating is needed** for Alfred's mouth!

…Poor Ivan and his fish friends…my heart broke a little as I was writing it; I'm one of those people that feel exceptionally depressed after the death of a pet.

Angry sex is sexy…though unfortunately unsuccessful XD Poor Alfred, being pushed off the bed…And poor Francis! Though personally I think it's good that he's gonna have t'do a lot more to get to be intimate with his little Matthieu; work that Frenchman, Mattie! Work that Frenchman! :D _However_, I promise that all in due time, there will be some action. C'mon, I gotta at least make you guys wait a little bit and build some anticipation; where's the fun in just throwing it all at you, eh? ;p

I seriously deserve an award for this…'cause…guess what…

…I WROTE ALL THREE OF THE HALLOWEEN SPECIALS! XD

I did nothing else over the weekend except for working on them (aside from writing this chapter, catching up on my week of lacking sleep, eating junk food and whatnot of course), and am now revising/checking for anything that doesn't make sense.

Expect them on Halloween morning. ;)

Anyways, I think that's all I need to say. Please drop me a few words; you have no idea how much they make my day and how much I appreciate them. =)

You guys are all my little darlings. –hearts–


	10. Halloween Specials

**Author's Notes:** HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE! 8D HOPE YOU GUYS HAVE AN AWESOME ONE!

Yep, it's now after midnight which means it's the morning which is why I'm uploading this. ;p

Before I started writing these I decided that, since Choice #3 won vote-wise, it's gonna the longest, whereas Choices #1 and #2 are shorter.

Please enjoy! ;)

Oh, one last thing, **I highly suggest imagining the scenes out in your head along with sound effects**; it's hella fun! :D

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0~

_Wish for Ever After_

There were soft knocks on his door.

It broke his blank daze, staring at the ceiling; he hadn't realized that was what he was doing until he was snapped out of it.

"…Arthur…?" A small whimper of a voice called out, muffled almost beyond recognition by the thick wood separating them.

"Yes?" He answered, voice much firmer, and sat up on his bed. He quickly ran over to open the door; he was used to this type of thing, but he honestly didn't expect it to happen tonight, since they spent the entire evening running around the neighborhood asking for candy in their amateur costumes.

It was quite tiring, and an experience Arthur hadn't had until that very evening, since most of his Halloweens were spent accompanying his father doing various things celebrating the holiday involving the Occult.

It was quite tiring, and Arthur had thought that maybe his little cousin would have an easier time sleeping.

He turned the doorknob and pulled gently. The door swung open without a sound; it was never locked, but the younger boy would never push his way in out of politeness, if not shyness.

Matthew, silent tears running down his round cheeks, appeared into view, blue eyes shimmering in the darkness like the ocean reflecting a full moon. His soft, blond waves were messy, framing his face. Small, thin arms hidden under a long-sleeved sleeping gown clutched around the large pillow he held, blocking the lower portion of his face from sight, as well as most of his body. His feet were bare against the cold, wooden floor of the hallway, and Arthur quickly invited him into the room, where there was carpet.

"What's wrong, Matthew?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

"…I can't sleep…I'm scared…" The other boy whispered.

Guiding his younger cousin to sit beside him on the bed, he carefully wiped the droplets of tears away; "Are you having bad dreams again?"

Matthew nodded, and scooted closer.

Arthur sighed a little, green eyes shinning with worry and empathy; he took the frightened boy into his own small arms, patting the soft, loose curls.

To say he was concerned was an understatement.

As young as he was, he was no ordinary child. With his family involved in what most people could only dream to exist in story books, he had responsibilities and accomplishments not suitable for his age, along with maturity that made it difficult for him to get along with other children.

But Matthew was different; Matthew was special, like him, though he hasn't realized it yet.

These dreams were nothing new. The Canadian boy always had them.

It was because they always turned out to be true in the future that worried Arthur, especially since they were bad ones.

They sat, holding each other, in silence.

A nearby clock tick-tocked; its rhythm was steady, and almost hypnotizing.

Matthew's eyes were closed, breaths even, but he was clearly not asleep.

Arthur, however, was starting to feel his eyelids droop.

Suddenly, a flutter of sparkling light flashed past the window.

He jumped a little, head turning abruptly.

The light was gone, but he already knew what it was.

"…Arthur…?" Matthew, sensing the small jolt, looked up, round eyes framed by long eyelashes looking curiously at him.

He felt a smile tug at his lips.

"Matthew…let me take you somewhere…"

~o0o0o0o0o~

They sneaked out of the house, pulling on their jackets.

It was quite easy, since Matthew's parents were at the hospital, and Arthur's father was away without explanation, though Arthur had an idea of what the older Kirkland was up to. Arthur's mother was fast asleep in one of the other guest bedrooms.

The street was completely silent, and dark. The streetlamps almost seemed to dwindle like fading stars. However, strangely, it was not frightening to the young boys, but rather serene and calming. There was a faint glow on all that was still; Matthew, hand being held by Arthur's, glanced around in wonder, but did not ask any questions.

Sometimes when he played with his cousin, strange things would happen, but they were also wonderful things.

Very quickly, they approached the edge of a large forest.

"…Arthur…" Matthew stopped, looking up at the tall trees, slightly apprehensive, "Where are we? …I don't remember any forest—"

"_-Shhhhh_," The older boy quickly hushed him, but his smile was comforting and warm, "Don't ask questions; just follow. I come here sometimes, but alone, because they do not like me to bring others, but it seems that they are willing to make an exception tonight."

Matthew blinked, and remained silent for a brief moment, nibbling on his lips. But as soon as his decision was made, he smiled back, and nodded.

The British boy gave a reassuring squeeze to the slightly smaller hand he held.

_It's okay; you are with me, safe. _The gesture said._ Trust me._

And he did, following after the older boy, steps making quiet noises as they walked onto woodland ground.

The forest was dark and almost foreboding, but small orbs of light floated about, rising up towards the high treetops, the sky, and what lay beyond.

Grass tickled their ankles as they made their way through, sometimes walking and balancing on large, fallen logs, sometimes jumping down onto piled layers of fallen leaves. Moisture was thick in the air; it shifted though there was no wind. As they walked deeper into the forest, mist grew thicker, lingering above them, tranquil and as if transparent silk, hiding the tops of the tall, ancient trees. It was cold, but did not chill. Matthew brushed a hand through his hair, keeping it out of his face, and felt damp strands.

It looked like any other Canadian rainforest, but this one felt much older.

It did not feel friendly, nor was it hostile.

It was balancing on peaceful neutrality, and accepted all.

"…Arthur," Matthew's voice was a whisper, but seemed to echo; the trees listened silently, and murmured to each other. "Arthur, where are we going?"

"We are almost there," His cousin reassured, but he almost seemed preoccupied, or distracted. His head was slightly lifted, looking up at the looming forms of dark branches barely visible through surrounding fog.

He could hear them; yes, he could hear them.

His father had taught him how to listen to nature. Their voices were hushed, deep, speaking in a language he could never hope to learn, yet understood as if he had always known how to speak it. They told of things, riddles, he could not fully grasp onto.

Suddenly, there was a flash of brightness, but it was gone in a blink of an eye.

Arthur abruptly stopped; Matthew bumped into him a little, and muttered an apology.

"_We are here…_"

The older boy whispered, green eyes bright, looking over the expanse of a small creek cutting across the forest floor with plantations flourishing alongside it. Moonlight splashed in from above where branches left openings for the night sky; soft, gentle beams of silver reflected by clear water.

Everything wore a hazy glow.

"…Do you see them?"

Matthew poked his head out from behind, and sported a small, pouted frown.

"…I don't see anything, eh…" He said, confused.

"Look closer; do not stare, but see."

He was even more confused by the older boy's instructions, but tried to do as he was asked.

Just when he was about to give up and accept the fact that perhaps he was just not as special as Arthur believed he was, he saw a flash at the corners of his eyes. Gasping, he tried to follow, but as soon as he tried to, it disappeared without a trace.

"Don't try to focus only on one thing, but see everything." Arthur patiently explained; he was told the exact, same words by his father the first time he was brought into a similar forest back in Great Britain, close to their home.

Matthew nodded, and tried again.

This time, when he saw a flash, he did not try to figure out where it came from, but remained moving his eyes. Suddenly, as if a symphony of dancing stars, bright orbs appeared, sparkling under the moon light and flying quickly through the air.

Arthur smiled as he felt his young cousin stiffen beside him and take in a soft gasp of wonder; he knew immediately that the other boy finally saw them.

"…What…What are they…?" Matthew asked, almost afraid to blink as if the magic would disappear if he did.

"You know already, Matthew."

"…Yeah…" The Canadian slowly nodded, watery eyes reflecting the shimmers of the water and the bright orbs, "_…Fairies…_"

Arthur smiled, proud that his little cousin could see them too.

One of the orbs, as if first time noticing their presence, flew closer.

Matthew gasped, scooting closer to the older boy.

"Don't be afraid." But he was still nervous. "They won't hurt you."

Other orbs followed, curious, and they were all of a sudden surrounded by floating wonders.

A particularly bright one hovered closer than the others, and Matthew suddenly could see clearly what it actually was.

It was a little person with fluttering wings like a dragonfly's. It was hard to make out exact features, though limbs and a small, round head were quite obvious. A ball of light rested just between where the wings met its back, encasing the fairy's entire body in brightness. Its skin shimmered as if luminescent, and it wore tiny little boots.

Matthew couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a small crown on its head.

"They are a small kingdom of fairies; the one in front of you is its king." Arthur explained in a hushed voice, "They are moving to another forest tonight; the magic of this forest is fading."

"…What?" The Canadian gasped in dismay, "But-But why?"

"It is a cycle I suppose. Old ones will die, but new ones will come in its place, though it'd be many years before it can grow into a mature enough forest to hold magical beings."

"Oh…" The strawberry blonde blinked, but still looked quite sad.

"That's what father told me," Arthur didn't know what else to say; he was never that good at comforting others.

"…Uncle Uther? …Can…Uncle Uther stop the forest from fading away?" There was a hopeful shimmer in the smaller boy's big eyes as they met his.

He bit his lips, unsure of what to say.

"…Maybe; maybe, Matthew." He lied, but was glad when a small smile blossomed on his cousin's face, glowingly pale by the light of the moon.

The king flew close to Arthur's ears, and whispered something to him.

Matthew watched with amazement as the older boy listened, and nodded in understanding.

"He said he welcomes you to the forest," Arthur turned to him and explained after the fairy had stopped whispering; "He apologizes for the disorder of his kingdom at a time like this, and is sorry that he could not offer proper hospitality."

"-O-Oh…It's-It's okay, really," Matthew shook his head and gave a shy smile to the bright orb; "A friend of mine moved away recently, so I understand what it's like."

At that, the fairy whispered again to Arthur, who quickly translated.

"He thanks you, and says that since he could not treat you with proper etiquettes, he will grant you one wish before he leads his kingdom to their new home."

Matthew's eyes widened in surprise, and his round cheeks pinked.

"R-Really? Would—…Would that be alright?" He tried not to look hopeful, but it twinkled in his eyes quite obviously.

Arthur laughed a little; the fairy smiled, though it went unnoticed.

"It's fine, Matthew. He wouldn't offer it if it weren't."

At that, the fairy flew closer, and gave a big nod of its small head so the strawberry blonde could see it.

"…W-Well…In that case…" Matthew bit on his lips, shuffling on his feet and looking thoughtful.

A long, pensive moment passed, and the other glowing fairies slowly rose higher in the air, growing brighter. They circled around them in a hypnotizing manner, and the air suddenly grew purer, and left cool, moist sensations if one took in a deep breath.

"…I wish…" Matthew's voice echoed though it was barely a breath.

His blue eyes shined like the ocean under a pale, bright moon.

"…I wish…to find someone who loves me."

The fairy king was still in the air, watching him with unseen eyes.

…_Are you certain, little one…? That there is nothing else you wish for more…?_

A voice spoke, though no lips moved.

Was he certain…?

That was what everyone wished for, wasn't it…?

In all the story books and fairy tales he'd read, or had been told…

…Happily ever after, wasn't it…?

"Yes," He replied, "Yes, I am certain...please."

There was a pause as the fairy king remained still, and everything remained still with him.

It was as if time itself was stopped.

Finally, as if letting out a long-held breath, there was a small movement from the hovering form.

He could barely make out a slight nod before, suddenly, blinding light erupted all around him, small orbs shinning brighter than the moon on a black night. They joined together as one, and he could hear music, though it was too fleeting for him to make out a tune.

Faintly, he could hear Arthur ask him, slight surprise in his voice: "…Why did you wish for that, Matthew?"

Feeling a heavy sense of sleep overcoming his senses; his eyes fell close. But before he drifted off to a deep slumber, he whispered:

"…_Because Papa said Mommy's going to get better soon…_"

What he didn't see was tears falling down Arthur's cheeks, and the fairy king looking down at him with sorrow swimming inside its dark, deep eyes.

What he didn't know was that, an ocean away in the country of love, sitting by a large window of a dark, lavish, but hollowly empty room, another young boy, clutching a book close to his chest with gloved hands, wished for the same thing, gazing up at the moon, face strangely absent of tears, as his aged father passed on with his young mother weeping by his deathbed.

When the light faded, the two were back in Arthur's bedroom.

Matthew was in a deep, dreamless slumber, and, finally, after countless nights filled with nightmares, was allowed proper rest.

Arthur watched him, and didn't quite understand the ache he felt inside his chest.

He was too young to understand.

They were both too young.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0~

_True American Hero_

"Tony!" An energetic boy, running up the stairs, called out loudly before pushing open the door of his room with a loud bang, "You can come out now! My parents are out; let's go trick-or-treating!" Short, blond hair messed as if a wild bird's nest and vibrant blue eyes sparkling with beaming happiness, young Alfred F. Jones, dressed up as Superman, looked around his room for his alien friend.

"Tony? Where are you?"

A blue-ish gray head stuck out from behind the bed, large eyes looking back at him curiously.

"There you are! Come on, let's go!" The young boy was practically bouncing on his feet; "We're gonna get more candy than everyone else in the world!"

Tony quirked his head to the side, not quite understanding the strange customs of planet Earth, but, seeing how much Alfred's face glowed with excitement, thought he should check it out.

Tugged out of the door of the large house by the small, chattering American, Tony thought he rather enjoyed being able to walk around without having to be sneaky and making sure to be unseen. Children and their parents walking past them marveled at how "awesome" and "realistic" his "costume" was, and Alfred half-jokingly told them that he was from another planet far, far away in another galaxy.

Tony was glad to have found the boy when he did. He was hiding from strange men in strange suits after being accidentally left behind by his kin, who could not save him in time from the most recent exploration. As he was running around and hiding in bushes, he stumbled into the backyard of the Jones family, where their young son was trying to play catch all by himself.

They had stared at each other for an awfully long time.

Tony thought he was doomed for sure, expecting a loud scream from the boy that would alert the strange men in strange suits of his location, but, to his great surprise, the small blond gave him a big grin and motioned him to hide inside his house.

"I was wondering why policemen told everyone to not leave their houses today," He had said as he invited the alien in. When Tony glanced around nervously as if suspecting someone to jump out, grab him, and take him to some horrible place to be studied, the young blonde gave a carefree laugh and patted him on the shoulders; "Don't worry! I'm not gonna sell you out. Heroes don't sell their friends out, yeah? My parents are out too, and Charlene couldn't come today 'cause of the lock down, so you're safe with me!"

With that, he ended up staying/hiding inside Alfred's room, easily befriending the high-spirited boy. And thus his life on planet Earth began.

The child talked about this Charlene character a lot, and Tony had wondered about this mysterious person he was so fond of. Eventually the alien found out who she was, though she never found out about him:

She was a young woman who lived a few doors over from the Jones' family, and often took care of Alfred when his parents had late nights away from the house. She let him watch as much TV as he wanted, which was partly why she was well-loved.

It was easy sneaking food upstairs for Tony when Charlene was over, but when elder Jones was home, it was an entirely different story. The man was tall and serious, quite frightening to be honest, and strict to the letter. He was once in the army, which explained the impeccable discipline he expected from his only son, and had strong beliefs that were irrefutable.

One of those beliefs was that food should be eaten at the table, because the dining room was for eating, so it was the only place food was supposed to be eaten.

However, it seemed that Alfred looked up to him to a great deal, despite being a little scared of the intimidating man, and often paraded around wearing his father's big, leather pilot coat in the house when his parents were off doing business-related things, which were often.

"My Dad's a true American hero!" He had said, chest huffing up proudly, "_I_ wanna be a pilot _just like him_ when I grow up, and help the world in the name of justice!"

Tony thought Alfred watched too many of those flashing hologram shows inside metal boxes humans called the "television".

They had been walking around outside for almost two hours; the air was getting chilly, though that didn't dampen the boy's spirits in the least.

His cheeks were flushed red, whether from the cold or happiness Tony wasn't sure. His eyes shined brightly, reflecting the many lights and lanterns decorating front lawns of houses. His lips were pulled back into a large, toothy grin. His steps were firm and quick, though his arms appeared to be struggling a little, lifting the heavy bag of sweets.

Tony had an equally large bag, though he was having a slightly easier time lugging it around.

Watching Alfred hop around animatedly, the alien felt a pang of sadness.

In truth, his kinsmen were coming back to Earth to pick him up on that very night; he had to be at the closest farm field by midnight to wait for their return.

He knew this since a week ago, when his half-broken transmitter suddenly got a signal. But it had been difficult to let the young boy know.

He'd grown close to the small blonde; they were very good friends.

Alfred, despite of being a lovable boy with a playful attitude, found it hard to find close companions in kids his age, who didn't understand his strong desire to bring justice to the world. He was a small boy with a big dream; ones like that often experienced ridicule and hardships before actual achievements later on in life.

The good thing about Alfred though was that he seemed completely unaware of the other children's teases and jibes, firmly believing that they admired him for his courage and farfetched hopes.

When the boy finally seemed to get tired enough from running around door to door to sit down on a bench and take a breather, Tony decided it was a good time to let his friend know of his departure.

Before he opened his mouth, however, his human friend spoke.

"Hey, Tony?"

The alien paused, and nodded.

"I had a great time tonight," Alfred gave him a happy smile, "Thanks for coming with me."

Tony was a little surprised, and didn't know what to say. To his relief, the boy talked on.

"I wouldn't get this much candy if it weren't for you! You're always so amazing, Tony! You're like…my lucky charm!"

Tony didn't know what a "lucky charm" was, but reasoned it was probably a good thing.

"I wish Halloween was _everyday_, so we can play outside together, and maybe you can even come to school with me!"

Tony nodded; he would like that.

"I'm so glad you came to Earth. I always believed in aliens, you know, even when Dad told me not to. So what is it like being an alien? Do you guys really fly around in big spaceships like in the movies?" Round, blue eyes looked at him, curiosity shinning brightly.

Tony blinked.

"…Tony?" Alfred tilted his head to the side, not understanding why his friend wasn't answering.

The alien looked back at him, and, after a few moments, tugged onto his hand and gave him a nudge as if asking him to go somewhere.

"Where're we going?" He asked, but Tony merely blinked again and led him along.

They walked far.

It never occurred to Alfred that he probably wouldn't be able to find his way back to his house, or that Charlene (who he had left a badly-written note saying he went out trick-or-treating with his friends for) was probably starting to worry.

There were very little number of kids still out and about by then, and lights were being turned off.

Charlene most definitely already called up his parents in a worried frenzy.

But he didn't care, and followed his friend without question.

He trusted Tony; that trust never wavered.

After an extremely lengthy while of walking, his feet were starting to hurt, but it seemed that they had reached their destination, for Tony suddenly stopped.

He turned; they were beside a huge corn field.

A lazy wind blew by, and the crops waved like the ocean under the pale moonlight.

"…Tony?" He asked as the alien took out his transmitter, which he took everywhere with him, from his bag.

_What's he doing…?_

Tony motioned for him to wait, and quickly disappeared into the field.

A long moment of silence passed as he stood there, wondering what was going on.

Suddenly a light shot out in the middle of the field; it was a laser of some sort, bright, but thin. It abruptly changed directions, and began to cut across the crops in a circular manner.

At first Alfred was confused, not knowing what the laser beam was doing. But all of a sudden, realization hit him.

He was watching one of the biggest mysteries of the world being unfolded right in front of his eyes as perfect circles and lines began making shapes and symbols in the field.

Amazed and completely enchanted, he was afraid to blink, wanting to see the entire procession without a single interruption, not even by a flutter of eyelids.

It was quick, and soundless, not even disturbing the wind.

Then it was done; the crop circle was drawn, and the beam of light disappeared.

After a while, a shuffling sound came closer and closer, Alfred, still rooted to his spot with mouth hanging open and eyes wide, saw Tony push his way out through the crops.

The alien held out a hand, and, without a question, Alfred followed.

As they made their way through the field, the boy blurted out the question that had been floating about in his head since the beginning of the whole thing:

"What's happening, Tony?"

They arrived at one end of the crop circles and stopped. The bent corn stalks crunched under his feet.

Tony turned towards him, and, at first, did not speak.

When he did, a small hum had begun to sound as the wind rose.

"…_I'm leaving, Alfred…_"

A bright light flashed in the sky, and, within mere seconds, a large, circular machine materialized seemingly out of nowhere, as if spreading ink in water against the night sky. What looked like head lights on cars adorned its rim, and it hovered above them.

Gushes of wind messed Alfred's hair; he was aware of the cape of his costume flapping behind him, but all of his attention was on his friend, whose figure was outlined by beams of light shinning down onto him from above.

"…Leaving…?" Alfred's eyes widened as disbelief overtook his expressions; "What-What do you mean, leaving?"

Tony tilted his head down, and looked away.

"_I'm going home, Alfred, tonight._"

Silence hung between the two as the spaceship landed behind them in a manner surprisingly graceful for something its size, matching the designs of the crop circle perfectly.

"…Home…You're going home…" Alfred whispered, unblinking and motionless, face uncharacteristically devoid of emotion.

Tony nodded.

Moments passed; the door of the spaceship slowly descended open, bright light splashed out into the night, and small figures would be seen standing there, silhouetted.

"_Do you…Do you want to come with me?_" Tony asked.

It was often the boy spoke of wanting to go with him to his home planet.

Alfred looked at him, and, for a moment, hesitated. But the hesitation was brief.

He lowered his gaze, and lightly shook his head.

"…This is my home, Tony; Earth is my home…"

The figures at the mouth of the door seemed to be talking to each other.

Tony nodded, looking down to the ground as well.

Alfred lifted his sad eyes.

For moments they remained unmoving, not knowing what to do or say.

Suddenly, a bag of sweets was shoved in front of Tony's face.

Tony startled a little, raising his line of vision.

"…Take it," Alfred wore a smile.

His hair flew about his face; his cape still waved in the wind. His eyes, sparkling blue, held tears, but also certainty towards his decisions. His cheeks were slightly flushed, as was the tip of his nose.

He was sad, but he was strong to not let it dim his smile.

His arm was shaking from holding the heavy bag outstretched, but he held it firmly in front of him.

"Take it, Tony. It's my present to you, from me, from America, from planet Earth." He said, voice unwavering.

And, at that moment, Tony knew this small boy would grow up to be the hero as he always dreamed of being.

He took the bag of sweets, and nodded a "thanks".

"_Would you like me to take you home on the spaceship?_" He asked.

Alfred blinked, and, for a moment, looked as if he could not believe he was being offered a ride on an _actual alien spaceship_.

Then, a brilliant grin bloomed onto his face.

"Yeah!" He said in a cheering tone, eyes growing round with excitement, and all worry for the young boy vanished from Tony's mind.

Alfred was going to be just fine.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

_Baba Yaga's Vodka_

Snow crunched under his shoes, and he snuggled his face further into the thick scarf around his neck. The first snow of the year had begun to fall, and was still falling, white and pure, almost shinning in the dark night. Luckily there was very little wind; the powdery flakes drifted down leisurely, floating about and dancing to an unheard melody.

He lifted a hand, and watched in wonder as snowflakes began to gather on his glove-covered palm.

Unlike some of the other children, he was not dressed in a costume, though he had gotten a large handful of candy and chocolate bars from his teacher in school, which had a nice weight inside his pockets.

Waving the white fluff off from his hand, he smiled, the soft texture of his scarf tickling his lips, and continued to walk down the road quickly disappearing under the piling snow.

Truthfully, as much as he loved sweets, he'd much rather have something else.

Perhaps he could trade his candy for a small bottle of vodka if the portion of small savings he took out from his piggy bank wasn't enough to purchase one from the store.

But he took out a lot of money! He nodded to himself, stopping to fix his large fur-hat that wobbled on his head. It was a little big for him and almost fell off, but he caught it in time.

While he knew he was probably way too young to be going to liquor stores, but he hoped that, since he was taller than most children his age, he could somehow get away with getting a bottle.

Feeling quite proud and important, his steps grew firmer and quicker, following the route he memorized leading to where the closest store was.

He passed by a couple, and said "hi". They conversed for a brief while before parting ways.

He didn't catch the curious and slightly worried looks the couple gave him, eyes following his small figure as it disappeared into the dark and snow.

As tall as he was for his age, he was still a child, after all.

Nearing an intersection, he looked around, searching for the landmark he remembered to turn at the corner of. Strangely he could not find it, though he was very sure he was on the right way.

Street lamps buzzed, brightening his surroundings to beautiful shimmers of the snow on the ground.

There was no one else on the road. He was utterly alone.

Large, round eyes blinked with naïve curiosity; pale eyelashes fluttered. He nibbled on his lips, and thought that he might as well turn in the direction that felt most familiar to him.

Looking all around once more, he decided to choose the right.

He had just taken a few steps forward to make his way around the corner when a sound suddenly caught his attention, and he turned to the other way opposite of where he was planning to go to, wondering what it was.

It sounded like faint music, and a low murmur of people talking to each other.

He tried to squint and see through the dark, his lips puckered in concentration, though he was unaware of it.

The street leading to his left narrowed quite abruptly, which made it look a little crooked and bizarre. He hadn't noticed when he first started looking around, but he'd just realized that there were no lamps showing the way into the small road. The last one was at its mouth, light almost as if being swallowed by the darkness that covered the rest of the way.

It was probably not a good idea to walk down a dark street by oneself alone on a night like this.

He nodded in agreement to his logic and turned on his heels, facing his right; he barely took one step forward when, suddenly, a strong gush of wind seemingly out of nowhere blasted against him.

He gasped and yelped, immediately covering his face against the onslaught of cold air and frozen snow flakes hitting against his skin. But he cried out louder in dismay when his fur hat flew off, and landed somewhere far away behind him.

He instantly swirled around and tried to see where it had gone, pale blond strands of hair flying wildly around his face. His ears were cold, and he missed the comfort of his hat.

Speaking of the hat, it was carried away by the wind that was strong enough to lift such a thing for a brief period of time before it bounced and hopped off, rolling into the darkness of the unlit, narrow street now behind him.

_Oh no!_ He gasped again in greater dismay; the soft sound was lost in the howling of the surge of cold air and flapping of his long coat.

Without a second thought, he ran after his hat.

It was his favourite hat, and his second favourite article of clothing besides his scarf.

Footsteps quick and crunching on the snow, he sprinted into the narrow street, and was immediately swallowed by the inky blackness as if morphing into a solid body of water.

The intersection was quiet; the wind was gone.

Snow continued to fall at a slow tempo, lethargic and dreamlike.

~o0o0o0o0o~

It didn't take him long to spot his fur hat. Picking it up and carefully beating off snow flakes that clung on, he looked around his proximity, wide eyes wondering and bright. Putting the hat back onto his head, he smiled and almost cooed in comfort. There was nothing better than warmth on a cold night, except for _maybe_ vodka.

…Which reminded him of his original intention for sneaking out of the house at night.

Also reminded that Natalia was waiting for him back home (she was woken up as he almost slipped and fell into the bushes under him when he was climbing down the tree beside his window), he thought he should hurry before the liquor store closed.

Just as he was going to make his way back to the intersection, being guided by the faraway streetlamps that were now only a flicker of light (had he gone _that_ far when in search for his hat?), another strong wave of whooshing wind hit him and flicked his hat off.

"_Ooooh stop it!_" He stomped his feet angrily and pouted, eyes following his hat as it rolled away once again.

Mumbling under his breath in annoyance and making a white huff of clouds in front him, he followed after it in fast steps, not realizing how, with each step taken away from the intersection, the lights faded an equal step further.

By the time he found his hat and returned its place to his head, he could no longer find the flicker from the street lamps.

It was a wonder he could see at all from how dark it was.

Now that he took the time to properly look around him, he noticed that it was, in fact, completely dark, so dark that he could not see what he was standing on. It was almost as if he was suspended in the air, the only confirmation that he was still attached to the ground was that snow still crunched under his feet if he moved.

Strangely he did not feel frightened, merely infinitely more intrigued.

The music along with murmuring voices he initially heard back at the crossroad (it felt like such a long time ago…) grew closer, and suddenly, light appeared in the distance, blooming out against pitch black. He squinted, and noticed that it was, in fact, orbs – no…they looked like…blue _flames_ floating in the air. It was hard to see, but the flickering motion indicated flames.

However, what was most strange was that they were not what gave off most of the light catching his attention. He couldn't figure out where it was coming from, and the flames were simply the most likely source, though also unlikely.

Blinking a few times in silent contemplation, he stepped towards the light and began making his way closer.

He figured that there must be a celebration of some sort going on, and that perhaps they had vodka.

As he got closer, it became even more confusing.

The light was moving along at a steady pace, or rather, it felt as though he was watching a slow, transparent train pass by his window, or a door, or some other similar portal-like structure.

He soon realized that it _was_ actually a door, or what would be better described as a door-shaped hole in a—…

He looked up as high as he could, which wasn't much since it was so dark, and then to his two sides.

Was there a…a wall…?

It must be an incredibly big wall!

It made sense now, why it was so dark – because this wall was blocking all the light!

He quickly made his way closer to the slightly vertically-elongated doorway, and stopped right in front of it.

There was something odd.

He was standing right in front of it, but could not see what was on the other side.

It looked as though it was—it was covered, by a…by a…

He stuck out a hand through the doorway, and his eyes widened with delight and surprise.

There was some sort of a screen, and he could pass through it!

Excited, he stepped through right away. Stumbling a little, he quickly found his balance, and looked up.

The sight in front of him rendered him breathless.

The music instantly became more prominent; it hung in the air like a light perfume, and was almost evasive as he tried to figure out where it was coming from, much like the light.

He walked forward a few steps, and absentmindedly wondered why he could stand on what looked like thin, swirling fume morphing into something akin to a flat surface on top of a still body of dark ink lazily spreading in water.

As strange as his surroundings were, what got most of his attention, however, was the strange beings passing by in front of him.

They were oddly shaped, some large, some small, some towering, some miniscule.

Some had many legs, thick and slow, stump-like, sprouting out and moving under a heavy body, which looked as if it was completely enveloped by a thick, colourful blanket. There were bright rings of deep violet, which reflected the light sometimes. They murmured to each other, and he recognized them as the talking he heard earlier.

Some wore white cloaks, and were shorter than him, holding beautifully crafted lanterns with intricate designs made by thin wires; they held the flickering blue flames that were so dim it looked as if they were sucking in light instead of giving out. Their clothing covered all, leaving none of their skin exposed. He didn't know how they could see where they were going, since there were no holes for eyes.

Some looked like bones covered with saggy skin walking on thin stalks as appendages. They wore no shoes, and their footsteps made small splashing sounds that seemed to disturb the still water under their feet, though there were no ripples. Their expressions were long and sullen, dragged down by drooping flesh swinging back and forth with their movements. Strangely, as grotesque and generally undesirable to look at as they all were, they had distinct characteristics and wore extremely elaborate clothes, which made them quite something to watch, and watch he did, with large, sparkly eyes following them unblinkingly, fascinated.

Some bore wings from their backs, though they were definitely no angels, and, if they were, he definitely did not want them to visit and offer him aid when he needed it. Bloody and ripped, their backs were torn open by the lanky things boney and almost completely absent of feathers; the few that clung on were dirty, tainted, and appeared to be rotting away. They looked human, though lacking obvious features such as eyes, mouths, sexual organs, and other secondary sexual characteristics.

So they _were_ angels, perfectly androgynous, or hellish versions of them.

They were singing to the soft music despite of their lack of mouths, voices clear and beautiful like song dings of sweet bells.

They all passed him, completely unaware of his presence.

Suddenly, hooves could be heard coming closer and closer at a rampant pace, followed by shrieks of shrill laughter.

Before he even had time to turn and find out what was making all that ruckus, a flash of a stretched, wide grin with glinting, sharp, crooked teeth and an abnormally gaunt, long arm was all he saw before he was scooped off the ground and into the air.

He gasped in surprise, and later in pain when he was unceremoniously thrown onto the back of a galloping stallion. Hands shooting out to clench around _anything_ so that he wouldn't fall off, he grabbed the first things he could reach, which felt wet and soggy through his gloves, making squishy sounds between his fingers.

When he realized that he wouldn't fall off because the same abnormally gaunt, long arm that plucked him up was still wrapped securely around his body, he looked up, and his third gasp died in his throat.

It was a man, though he could hardly be called as such.

Wild and billowing behind him, his hair was a tangled mess that clumped together, appearing seaweed-like. The skin on his body clung to his bones, dry, rough, peeling, and wore many wrinkles, especially on his face due to his pulled-back grin of glee. He had an incredibly high forehead looming over deep-set eye-sockets that were like holes, while bright orbs shined from the shadow under his craggy brows. His nose was tall, proud, and sharp like the edge of a knife, as well as pointed like one.

"_Who dares such stupidity of walking the Eve – your name, nameless one."_ His voice was a soft coo contrasting oddly with his appearance; it was so gentle and loving that it was almost frightening.

"I'm Ivan, da~" He blinked his round eyes and tilted his head to the side in a manner most innocent and fully of childish curiosity, "Who are you?"

The scary man looked amused, and almost haughty for a second; then, in a suddenly booming voice, he answered:

"_I am Koshchey the Deathless;_

_Fear me for I am fearless._

_Many treat me a ruthless foe,_

_As I bring naught but utmost woe._

_Onward I ride; I leap; I conquer;_

_All heroes alike I trample over._

_I am the thunder, the wind, the storm;_

_I am a sorcerer, but was not born—_

_-Of a mother kind and fair,_

_But a poisonous serpent's lair._

_I may howl and cry and shriek and bellow,_

_And charm an agitated fellow—_

_With the instrument of my pride,_

_To the voice of his sweet bride._

_I have beaten all kings and left them slain,_

_Was only bound once by Morewna's chains._

_I am the mist, the smoke, the shadow, the dusk,_

_Swift and—"_

"-Oh no!"

A dismayed shout from the child interrupted, and his grin widened to heightened delight, no doubt convinced that the cry was out of fear towards him. However, Ivan begged to differ:

"My fur hat!" A small, glove covered hand reached up and only found soft, blond hair; he wore such a horrified and devastated expression on his face that the terrifying man actually looked concerned for a brief second before scowling menacingly.

"_Same as all man I have met with your name, Ivan the nameless, you are just as every bit rude!"_ His voice suddenly turned scratchy, hoarse, and angry, as if sandpaper against a chalkboard, but his expression quickly changed as Ivan, with large eyes peering up at him and tears forming large droplets balancing delicately on long, pale eyelashes, clenched harder on his beard and pleaded:

"Please, mister Death, turn back! I have to find my hat!" He seemed to have gotten the wrong idea about Koshchey, who did not look pleased, to say the least, about being called "Death" of all things, being "Deathless" and all.

"_Fool! I am no Death—"_

"-I love my hat! _Please_ mister Death! We have to go back to get him! Da—!" Ivan seemed to think that "mister Death" was something like a grandfather-figure, since the old man was nice enough to give him a lift on his horse and all, and, suddenly feeling rather clingy and sentimental, started to whimper sadly, unknowingly giving the impression of puppy-eyes.

He couldn't imagine ever losing his beloved fur hat; it was almost as bad as…almost as bad as losing his beloved scarf!

What if—What if his hat got taken away and thrown into some dumpster or-or, even worse, _got stepped on!_

**-OH NOOOO—!**

"We must save him!" Ivan's round cheeks were suddenly covered by tears as he pleaded more with his eyes.

Koshchey looked as though he couldn't understand what was happening. And, before he _could_ actually figure out what was happening, he had already spun his horse around with a nasty yank by its manes, causing the stallion to rear on its hind legs with a loud shriek. Startling many of the other beings in the parade and getting many curse words thrown at him, he rushed back to way they came as the child had begged him to.

…_What the hell happened?_

He blamed it on the child's pretty face and pretty eyes, and how it reminded him of that one damsel who tricked him into believing that she thought he was damned irresistible.

Stupid woman…playing with his feelings…not the mention the shame and sheer _rage_ he felt to being outwitted by a _little girl_…

Ivan jumped as the man who captured him abruptly started to weep violently on top bellow, more screeching than sobbing, voice like cat nails on glass. All the other strange beings in the parade shouted out, screamed, and howled in alarm and displeasure, yelling out growled words in a language he did not understand as they rode past them.

He covered his ears the best he could to block out the piercing sound. Instead of putting his attention on the skull-splitting noise, he tried to focus on finding his fur hat, though it was hard to see things clearly at the speed they were moving in…

…like the wind…

But suddenly another sound caught his attention, or rather, it was a chorus of sounds.

High shrieks and wails almost as loud as Koshchey's toppled over one another. That actually frightened Ivan, since he recognized what those were.

Anyone who'd known horror would know what restless spirits sound like.

His small hands found themselves back to clenching around mister Death's beard, as disgustingly slimy and grimy it was, and he scooted closer to the old man, only to come to realize with a startle that his "savior" was actually stark naked.

_Is mister Death not cold…?_

Looking up at the still crying old man, he figured that Death probably didn't feel the cold, or warmth for that matter, like humans do.

Another different kind of sounds then caught his attention. It was groaning, creaking, and there was a constant loud banging that reminded him of heavy logs of lumber being thrown down onto the ground. A rustle of sweeping sounds popped out amongst all the havoc simply because of how different it was from the other disturbances. He could also hear hooves galloping, though they were faint and drowned out by all the other noise.

Koshchey gave a particularly wild and eruptive wail, and something suddenly whacked him in the head, almost bashing it off from his shoulders by force of the swing alone.

It also didn't help that his horse was traveling at an air-splitting speed.

"_Shut that trap of yours!"_ A voice similar to a chair scraping against the floor – or something that just had their last scream squeezed out of them by being squished to death – cut through the chaos like a hot blade. It was obviously female, and accompanied by clatters of metal.

Koshchey immediately silenced, though still sniffed every once in a while, pulling his horse to a stop. The expression of fury was still evident on his face combined with what looked disturbingly and suspiciously like a half-pout.

Ivan stopped trying to hide himself against the old man without getting dirty and turned around to see who was talking.

Eyes pale as though completely white and devoid of irises met his, large, glittering, and with intense interest. They sat in the deep hollows of the face of an old woman, whose white, stringy brows were furrowed almost as if in anger, though her leering grin of glee said otherwise. Her lips were thin, and pulled back, exposing sharp, iron teeth; Ivan assumed that was what made the metallic clattering sounds he heard earlier.

Her nose was the most prominent part of her aged, wrinkly face. It was long and pointed, poking out like a short dagger, looking awfully out of balance with the rest of her since she was even more grotesquely skinny than Koshchey the Deathless.

She was, quite literally, a heap of bones.

White hair pure as snow and shinning in the dark was coarse and few, decorating the top of her head. They were pulled back and sticking vaguely upwards in the air as if frozen forever in time of flying in the wind. There were some limp strands framing her face, though they were hardly attractively so.

However, there was something incredibly intriguing about the old woman.

She sat, perched high on a large mortar, which hovered in the air, knees brushing the underside of her chin. In one hand she held a pestle that looked quite massive to be held by someone as small-framed as she was, though she had a strangely easy time handling it, as demonstrated earlier when she whacked poor Koshchey on the head with it. In the other she held a shimmering, beautiful broom that was giving off a semi-glow.

Wearing a dress with puffed sleeves and patterned fabrics, she definitely was much more fearsome to Ivan than Koshchey despite of her…somewhat friendly expression.

The Russian boy was especially apprehensive about her sharp teeth, staring at them with round eyes.

The old woman seemed to notice him staring, and, after blinking a few times, suddenly threw her head back and laughed. Her form shook as though it was going to collapse in on itself, loud cackles explosive as if the loudest of thunder, sharp-edged and cutting. Somehow she managed to keep her bones from disjointing and crumbling.

The parade suddenly stopped; creatures from all around paused in their steps and watched attentively, collectively holding their breaths if they breathed.

The music humming in the background halted as well.

It was eerily silent as the aged lady hackled her last laughter and fixed Ivan with a scrutinizing and curious gaze that seemed to pierce through his skull with its intensity.

"_You brought me a gift I see, Koshchey Deathless."_ She spoke, voice croaked as if from a dry throat that hadn't been used for centuries.

Koshchey seemed to hesitate, but he eventually gave a small, curt nod; _"He wanders and trespasses, Baba."_

Ivan blinked; _Baba…?_

"Baba" instantly jerked her head to face Koshchey and gave him such a frightening visage of anger and glare that all other creatures seemed to scoot further away and cower.

"_You should know better than to utter my name carelessly, immortal fool!"_ She shouted out, fury flashing in her eyes and making her thin body tremble. She paused to grit her teeth, expression twisting into something most hideous and terrifying; she gave an angry splutter and spat out:_ "Spittle on my boney buttocks! Deathless – Bah! More so brainless, an ancient and an idiot! An idiot for eternity, you wear that title well!"_

For a moment Ivan was sure that Baba was going to give mister Death another whack in the head that would no doubt kill him, and, suddenly horrified by the possibility that he wouldn't have someone to take him back to where he was to find his fur hat, gasped and instantly wrapped his arms around the old man.

"No! No, please, Baba!" He shouted out, voice starkly more pleasant to the ears and sweet, shaking his head, blond hair fluttering about his face; "Mister Death is very kind; he didn't do anything wrong, da~!"

There was an anticipating silence as Baba actually wore a surprised expression and stared at him.

As abruptly as the first time she had done so, she threw her head back and burst into ear-splitting laughter once again, bending back so far that she looked like she was about to fall off from her mortar.

"_Mister Death—My dear Koshchey, what did you tell this child? …Mister Death…"_ She tried to keep a straight face, but failed and spluttered into another round of hilarity.

Koshchey bit his teeth together, and flushed a horrible shade of red, causing the rest of his skin to look almost yellowish-green in comparison.

Ivan was confused, and frowned, not understanding what was so funny.

After what felt like forever, Baba stopped laughing; giving a careless snort, she ignored Koshchey, and turned her attention back to the child who did not seem to notice he was pressing himself dangerously close to the poisonous glands lining the insides of Deathless' arms.

"_What business do you bring here, Childe?" _She asked him in an oddly gentle voice, though her eyes were unreadable of intentions.

Ivan blinked, snuggling his face deeper into his scarf; with a small voice, he asked: "You aren't going to ask who I am, Baba?"

Baba paused a little, smile fading to a more thoughtful expression.

"…_Do I __**need**__ your name, Childe?"_

Ivan did not understand, but remembering that it was rude to talk to someone without letting them know of his name from what his parents told him, he answered:

"I'm Ivan, Baba, Ivan Braginski."

There was another small pause, and then Baba's wide smile was back.

"_I know many 'Ivan's, one of which drew most unflattering pictures of me; he did not catch my good side."_ She tutted, though she spoke absentmindedly.

"Can you help me find my fur hat, please?" He then asked, breaking the aged woman out of a small pensive moment.

Baba gave a sniff with her long nose, and did not speak. In fact, she looked quite annoyed with such a request.

"Please, Baba?" Ivan asked, shifting so he could take out the handfuls of candy he had in his pockets, "You can have _all_ of my candy, da~~?" He gave a bright, hopeful smile, head tilting to the side.

Baba quirked up an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"I was going to buy vodka with my candy, but…my hat is more important than vodka…da…" His round, blue eyes lowered downwards, and a sad expression appeared on his face. He hated the idea letting his sister Natalia down, who was still waiting for him to bring back vodka at home, but he needed all the help he can get to find his hat at a place like this – as vast as to look endless.

There was a slight perk in the old lady's posture as a most strange glint entered her eyes. She regarded the boy for an awfully long time. When she spoke, her voice was uncharacteristically low:

"_Do they mean much to you?"_

Ivan looked up once more; "…The candy?"

Baba did not answer right away; instead, her smile grew to a grin that seemed to split her thin face into two.

"_For…__**vodka**__, you will offer them freely?"_

Ivan did not understand; it would not really be "freely" if he could get vodka in return…

Besides, weren't they talking about his hat?

Unbeknownst to the child, the "they" Baba was talking about was far from the candy he was offering.

_Baba_ did not make bargains with measly children's treats, and this child was exceptionally foolish to not recognize who she was and give her the ultimate power of, really, taking whatever she wanted from him, as objects in a trade with her could represent anything.

…Which was why heroes and heroines would offer her years of their lives, but never something tangible.

Everything comes with a catch; this child, Ivan, who dared to give his full name to her without inhibitions, would surely regret this bargain for many years of his life before he would benefit from the gift she was about to give him, should he remember this incident of course.

She could see far…yes…perhaps this was the will of fate, and she would follow it without question or concern over how much this little boy was going to suffer.

Looking at who was a mere _infant _compared to her, who was looking back with such unblemished trust and wishful hopes in his sparkling blue eyes that reminded her too much of a clear, cloudless sky to her liking (she never liked clear days and disgustingly sunny weather), she slowly took the pestle from her right hand with her left, eyes never blinking once or breaking contact with Ivan on Deathless' horse.

Koshchey, who knew what was happening, also knew better than to interrupt a dealing between a human and the witch Baba Yaga.

He watched, lips pressed together tightly, as silent as the rest of the supernatural creatures.

Baba's hand disappeared into a hidden pocket of her dress and took out a small bottle. The liquid inside, at first, looked to be clear, but, upon closer inspection, there was a mist of transparent violet swirling inside it.

Her grin grew even wider; Ivan didn't think it was possible.

"_I will not take what was meant for' else-whats'; I will sell you vodka, Ivan dear."_

Ivan frowned, a little hesitant.

"But…I—I don't want vodka anymore…"

"_Then you will give me your offerings without expecting anything in return?"_

Ivan's blue eyes widened; "No-! That's not fair!" He pursed his lips, though they were half-blocked by his scarf.

It was exactly what Baba wanted and expected to hear.

"_Take this bargain, and we will make another."_

It didn't take long for the child to decide; after all, he was anxious to find his hat, and he _did_ still have the money from his piggy bank left to make another deal.

Nodding, he extended his small, gloved hands as far as he could, and watched, amazed, as the candy bars suddenly floated in the air and hovered over the old lady, while her small bottle of "vodka" drifted towards him.

Baba took the sweets, and stuffed them into her pocket.

The small bottle dropped down into Ivan's palms, a little heavier than he expected.

Ivan lifted his eyes to meet the old woman's, expecting her to start talking about the next bargain; but when she spoke, it surprised him with something else.

"_Drink, Childe."_ Her voice was an even note, but firm and commanding.

The Russian boy frowned, and shook his head slightly; "It's for my sister too, da…"

"_It cannot leave this world into yours."_ Baba looked quite stern.

"_You leap into murky water without concern for what lies underneath it, boy."_ Koshchey murmured, but immediately shut up as Baba sent him another frightening glare.

"_Drink, or all was for naught."_ The witch pressed on, impatient now that Ivan was hesitating in drinking.

Of course there was always a chance that the "vodka" was not meant to be drunk by him, and he would suffer a horrible death, and, after it, a horrible fate, but the chance that he _was_ meant to drink it was enough to take that risk.

Baba shrugged; she really didn't care much about this idiotic child, at least not as much as Deathless.

The stupid sorcerer always had a soft spot for anything that walked on legs and was pretty.

Ivan looked down at the small bottle, seeing the violet swirls and wondering what they were.

Maybe a special kind of vodka…?

More curious than actually willing to complete the bargain, he unscrewed the cap.

With one last look at the bottle, he took in a deep breath, and pressed it to his mouth.

The glass was cold, but, as he swung his head back to take a swig, hard liquor began to burn down his throat.

_Something was not right…_

It was too harsh, too hot, and jabbed his insides with what felt like millions of long, sharp needles.

Jolting and crying out, he choked and was just about to throw the bottle away when a hand clenched around his and forced it back to his lips.

Struggling and cries being muffled, he kicked and pushed with all his might, but the arm wrapped tightly around his body clamped him in his position.

_-Mister Death…Mister Death…No—_

Koshchey held the thrashing child with more strength than what most would think possible for someone as lanky-limbed as he to have.

Baba's grin exposed all her teeth, eyes flickering like the blue flames in the lanterns held by some of the creatures in the parade with heightened delight.

Fear gripped Ivan's heart, which beat at a flying pace, thumping hard against his ribcage. He thought the bottle was small, but the liquid was never ending! It poured down his throat relentlessly and burnt the tissues there mercilessly, almost frying him from the inside out.

Tears gathered in his eyes; the air was getting thin, and his struggles became completely panicked.

Just as he thought he was going to be suffocated or burnt to death, the bottle tipped all the way upside down, and the last few drops of "vodka" flowed into his stomach. It was then discarded without a second thought.

Coughing and trying to retch out the fluid, his hands clenched around his scarf, muffling fearful whimpers.

Baba no longer wore a grin; in fact, no expression marked her lined face.

She was leaning forward on her mortar, watching intently with hard-glinted eyes.

Koshchey held the child firmly, and, if he had a heart, it would've been beating wildly.

He'd seen some of Baba's rather gruesome experiments with potions after tricking willing humans into being her test subjects – some that even made him, who had no fear, cringe with discomfort.

For silent moments, the only sound disturbing the still atmosphere was Ivan's soft sniffles.

The burn was slowly going away; the boy blinked, wondering what was going on.

He didn't feel all that bad now, though still a little shaken.

Looking around, he met Baba's eyes, questioning.

Baba looked displeased and disappointed.

Just as she opened her lips to speak, another sensation abruptly erupted within the child.

Ivan, barely able to breathe from the sudden outburst of anguish twisting his organs into tight knots, felt a strangled scream wrench from his throat as, suddenly, his eyes burnt.

It was as if they were being stabbed by millions of heated knives, or being pressed into burning, hot coal. Tears burst forth from the corners of his eyes, and immediately poured down his cheeks, gushing out in large drops frightening in their amounts.

Shrieking in fear and agony, he grabbed at them, scratching his skin with the rough material of his gloves, wheezing in violent sobs and crying at top wail, though none of it seemed enough to express how much pain he was under.

There was a harsh, cutting command from somewhere, and, suddenly, his hands here yanked away from his face.

"_Open you eyes. Open you eyes, Childe."_ Baba's voice was abnormally calm, but firm.

"_No! NO!_" He cried out, scrambling to get away from the vice-grips around his wrists, shaking his head side to side, strands of blond hair sticking to his drenched cheeks.

"_**Open you eyes!**__"_ There was a roar from the old, scratchy voice, and he immediately jumped to stillness out of fright alone.

His eyes still felt as though they were getting cooked in an oven at top temperature, but he tried to do what he was ordered to.

Still crying and shaking horribly, he tried to pull his eyelids open, which felt like they were melted and stuck together.

When he finally managed a crack, he immediately stopped with a sharp scream.

He didn't think it was possible to hurt more than how much he was already hurting, but that was contradicted as his eyes opened for a split second.

A rough, boney hand suddenly clamped around his face, pushing into round cheeks with enough pressure to leave bruises.

"…_Open them, Childe, and let me see them"_

Baba's voice was a whisper, hissed but gentler in tone.

After a fidgety while, he tried to pry them open again, and, this time, succeeded better than the last time, though the sheer agony drilling into his eyes were so great that he was heaving in spasms, unable to breathe.

Baba was silent for too long; he didn't know if he could keep his eyes open any longer without passing out from the abuse. However, he was allowed some mercy when the old woman finally spoke:

"…_Your eyes are a beautiful shade of violet now, Ivan. The most breathtaking of an extraordinary dusk has got nothing on you, dear boy."_

Baba sounded quite pleased.

He immediately closed them, hoping that was enough torture for the night.

When his arms were released, he wrapped them around himself, sobs subsiding a little, and scooted closer towards Koshchey, seeking some comfort though he knew the old man served the old woman.

Clatters of hooves against the ground broke the temporary quietness.

There was hardly any murmur of voice, but Baba gave a hum of understanding.

"_My Dark Midnight brings me something of interest…"_

There was a shuffle of clothing, and, startled when hands brushed against his hair, he felt something furry and warm being placed on the top of his head.

He gasped.

It was his fur hat!

Suddenly voices from all over started speaking all at once; the music Ivan initially heard when he first arrived at the parade resumed, and movements all around picked up once more.

With his eyes closed, he could not see the beaming look of utmost pride Baba showered down towards him, nor the joyful grin seldom-ly seen on her face on full blast in her expressions.

"_A true Russian child, I now know I can place high hopes on you."_ She patted him on the head, though he did not feel it due to his large hat.

"_My Bright Dawn!"_ She called, and another set of clattering hooves sounded; _"The end of the Eve draws nigh; we must take the Childe and return him before all is forfeit."_

The hooves came closer, and Koshchey's arms actually tightened around his body.

There was a growl:

"_I am faster; the wind is cut when I ride."_

"_And where will you take him, Koshchey? Your lair to keep as your bride?"_ Replied a sneer.

There was a tense moment of silence when another pair of arms held onto him, and mister Death's fell away, allowing him to be lifted in the air and placed onto another horse.

This new rider was stronger and bigger in frame than Koshchey, which should make him feel safer than to be sitting with a naked old man, but Ivan did not like him. He felt detached, as if completely cut from any human characteristics aside from having the physical body of one, or at least from what the boy could guess from feeling alone. He was neither cold nor warm – good nor bad – and straddled on neutrality.

"_The Eve is ending!"_ Baba's voice suddenly shouted out above all sounds, cutting across the blackness of their surroundings like a bright spear; _"Hurry! Hurry! Friends and foes of Old! Hurry to the next Night!"_ With a loud clunk of beating her pestle, which returned to its place in her right hand, against the ground, she cackled, head thrown back once more, and pushed her mortar into the air, her silver birch broom making swishing sounds after her.

Howls and wails of the souls accompanying her returned in a full chorus. Oh how beautifully they sing! She laughed louder; she had not been in such a good mood for too long.

Hearing the wind whoosh past her ears, she flew high above the parade, screeching out an old tune only one as ancient as her knew, its tune off pitch and completely unrecognizable even if another Ancient was present.

"_Follow! My Bright Dawn!"_

Ivan yelped out as the horse under him burst forth into a full gallop in an instance at the command of its rider, and leapt into the air.

They rose higher and higher at a speed that made his stomach to flip-flops, and made him nauseous amongst general agony from the "vodka" he drank that was fading away too slowly to his liking.

He was vaguely aware of Baba leading the way; his only indication was the continuous howling of the spirits that surrounded the old woman and her loud hackles of laughter.

They soared through the air, directions changing erratically, up and down, left and right, in an abrupt manner that he felt he was going to fall off each time they swerved sharply.

It was getting increasingly cold. Biting wind beat against his skin, slicing in iciness as it blew past, whispering and hissing in his ears.

One of his hands was wrapped tightly onto his hat, making sure it wouldn't fall off.

Suddenly Baba's voice cut through the havoc of her accompaniments and the wind, sounding almost as if right beside his ears:

"_Look, Childe, your future! I am generous tonight; it is rare. See it, though you will forget when this night is over!"_ Another round of crackling laughs caught her, and her voice immediately faded off and was carried away far.

Ivan really didn't want to look, afraid that it would hurt him again.

But curiosity won out in the end, and, slowly, he began to force open his eyelids.

His vision was blurry, by tears and something else that felt like a layer of murky water. He blinked; it did not go away.

He was on a white horse, so bright that it stung his eyes to look down at it. He was held by an arm equally bright of a man wearing white armour that covered all of his body and face. Tearing his eyes away from the sight that stabbed at his sensitive vision, he turned to look out, and saw only smoke.

Gray, blue, and heavy, it was as though they were traveling through clouds; it was cold and moist. He could see Baba in front of them, though she was merely a shadow.

Turning his head to his right, he finally saw what the old witch wanted him to see.

Through a gap between the shaped fog, there was blackness. It was almost as if the dark was trying to swallow them, pursuing after. However, within it, he could see dim light.

It was still hard to figure out what it was he was seeing, and his eyes was starting to become more painful by the second, but, suddenly, he recognized it.

It was a parade, similar to the one he stumbled upon, yet different.

It was strange; he could see them clearly now, despite of how far away he knew they were.

Baba, a distance away, grinned.

Of course he could see; she wanted him to see.

There were creatures bizarre and fascinating, large and small, hideous and beautiful.

He could also vaguely hear music, though it was a style he had never heard before.

Amongst them was a family.

At the front stood a man, who held a lantern high above his head, looking stoic beside a woman, slender and dressed in beautiful, flowing robes.

Three children followed after them, each holding different things in their hands, but one in particular caught his attention.

The tallest and probably oldest of the three, with long, dark hair loosely tied back into a ponytail, walked with grace that his siblings still lacked by age. Holding a jade horsehair whisk of the purest white, he glided across the floor after his parents, dark, almond-shaped eyes focused.

It was only a flash of a second before the clouds closed in and blocked the sight from Ivan, who immediately squeezed his eyes shut when a horrible sting jabbed at them.

"…_A gift that you will cherish,_

_For when your loved ones perish—_

_You will save the ones still dear,_

_All your tears will run so clear—_

_-That through torture, agony, sufferance and maim,_

_The simple utterance of an unusual name—_

_-Foreign to your tongue,_

_Nothing will be sung—_

_-In greater comfort and reassurance."_

Baba sang, voice surprisingly sweet and crisp.

The song was soothing in melody, and lured him into a deep sleep.

~o0o0o0o0o~

When Ivan woke up the morning after, he was back in his bedroom, tucked in his bed, all memories of the previous night completely forgotten and erased from his mind.

Joining his sisters and parents at the table for breakfast, chattering happily as usual, no one questioned why his eyes were an abnormal shade of violet, or why he seemed to stare at the water faucet in the kitchen with a blank look of fascination.

Outside, snow fell leisurely and silently.

A naked, gaunt old man, with beard unsightly and dirty, clumped, seaweed-like hair floating limply in the wind, stood on top of a tall tree not far from that family's house, sitting majestically on an impressive stallion, unseen but seeing.

He wore a scowl for an expression on his ill-proportioned face, though his eyes held a slight worry.

He snorted, breath not creating a cloud in front of him despite of the cold.

And, with a blink of an eye, he was gone.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Ending Notes:** Awwww, ain't Koshchey such a sweet naked old man? -hearts-

So, whatcha guys think? :D

I couldn't resist the temptation to make Arthur's father Uther; at least _I_ thought it was funny…XD

I was introduced to the awesome character that is Baba Yaga by _ATrueBlueSky_ (Thanks for letting me know of her!); man she's so hardcore and delicious! Hopefully I did her justice. –crosses fingers– As I was doing research on her I found out about Koshchey the Deathless, and thought he was pretty interesting too, and thus – _Tada!_ – Ivan's Halloween adventure is born! Now you guys know where he got his kick-ass power and violet eyes from. There was also some foreshadowing as well. ;)

I hope Matthew's wish wasn't too cheesy; I had to somehow give Francis a chance to make a small appearance, and hint on some back story to his life as a child. And, of course, I had to give Yao a cameo too!

I was gonna have Tony make the crop circle with a wooden board at super alien speed or something, but it was probably too unrealistic, so I had him make it with his transmitter. I have no idea if crop circles are still one of the biggest mysteries on the planet; let's just pretend they still are. XD

I'm no poet, so Koshchey's poem took me like a whole 15 minutes to write; Baba's took shorter, but hers had less lines, so that might've had something to do with it. I have no idea what form those poems are in, but hopefully they're to your fancy. =)

The "Ivan" Baba mentioned that drew an unflattering picture of her is _Ivan Bilibin_, in case anyone's wondering what she was talking about.

Anyways, I should head to bed now…-yawns- But before I do that:

**Thank you guys so, **_**so**_** much for all your support and kind words!** I hope this Halloween Special is an adequate enough present to say proper thanks; you guys are all such wonderful peeps and are all my little darlings! :D

I LOVE YOU GUYZ! –insert many many hearts here–

...Review please? –makes Matthew give puppy eyes again– Man I swear he can use that as a weapon…

…Damnit I'm hungry…D:

-flops down onto bed-


	11. Calm before a Storm

**Author's Notes: **_I'm so sorry for the long wait!_ My academic life is getting all (#U(*&(*, but I'm hoping it won't get worse so I can at least keep up with the weekly updates on Thursday thing.

Imma try my best; that I promise you guys! :D

Before moving onto the chapter, **I'd like to take this chance to thank EVERYONE for EVERYTHING**! I wish I could say more, but I don't think anything I say will be enough to convey my full appreciation for everything you guys have done for me and all your kindness, so I'm just gonna say **SUPER DUPER BIG THANKS!** You guys seriously make me such a happy author; I grin at my computer screen because of how awesome y'all are. ;p

Anyways, I guess the best way for me to express my gratitude would probably be…shutting up now and giving you guys the chapter, so HERE IT IIIIIS--! :D:D:D:D

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

"Do _something_, man!" Alfred, grabbing Yao by the collars of his shirt, cried out in desperation, "This is all your fault! He won't even leave the office, damnit! How the hell am I supposed to live in peace when he's always here staring at those damned fish?"

Yao bit back a grimace, slowly wringing Alfred's fingers off. Glancing at the other side of the office, he sighed.

Without question, there stood Ivan, cheeks pink and eyes round with excited delight, mouth slightly agape in quiet laughter as he watched his beloved fish swim back and forth, some coming close to the glass to look back at him.

"Do you have any idea how scary it is to wake up at night to use the bathroom to see him standing over there? _I almost had a heart attack!_" The American was freaking out; "I don't even know how he got in here after closing in the first place! I locked the door before going to bed!"

The Chinese man being blamed looked back at him, and noted with concerned interest that, indeed, there were dark circles around the usually energetic blonde's eyes, whose hair was messier than usual and was significantly becoming more on edge as of late.

It didn't help that there hasn't been any more cases since Hedgewood, which was many weeks ago. Yao knew this agency wasn't just Alfred's job, but, most importantly, his livelihood, since after all, he literally lived here in the office. The American was thinner; he was stressed, and had to start being careful with his spending, which was hard because he liked to buy useless things on a whim.

Of course it didn't help that Ivan loitered around whenever he can to stand in front of the fish tank and stare at his little pets for sometimes hours on end without moving.

Needless to say, to an agitated American in a bad mood during bad financial times, _that_ didn't help at all.

From what Yao gathered from Francis, who rarely comes to the office at all anymore since there was nothing to do, keeping the agency from bankruptcy was not the only thing Alfred had to worry about.

Arthur was ignoring him.

Yao was not informed of the details of what happened, but he was pretty sure it was a good guess to assume that it had something to do with Alfred's big mouth that always said too much.

Speaking of the British man, no one was quite sure what he was doing most of the time. Last time Yao had seen Matthew, who was living with the Londoner, he was told that Arthur constantly answered to phone calls from overseas and went away for sometimes days to do assignments he did not care to share with the rest of the team.

Yao was actually starting to wonder if Alfred's "Hogwarts" suspicion had been right.

"_Damnit_ Yao, are you even listening to me!"

"Stop saying 'damnit', aru. I can hear you fine, aru…" Yao sighed, rubbing his temples; he did _not_ need this first thing in the morning. Why was he the only one being shouted at anyways? Oh, right, of course…he seemed to be the only one worried enough to come check up on the agency on a frequent basis.

"I'll talk to Ivan now, aru…so let go of me, please." Pushing slightly at the American's hands, he left Alfred to his spot half-knelt down on the ground and approached the tall man still wide-eyed at the fish tank.

"…Ivan?"

Ivan turned; it was the first movement made by the man since he'd initially gotten there on that day.

"Yao! You came to see fish too, da~? Come! Come! They are strong and healthy!" Yao was immediately pulled into strong arms and shoved to the glass of the tank.

"You…are taking great care of them, aren't you?" Yao couldn't help but smile. It was true, the fish were full of life; they all started to crowd near the glass to stare back at the Chinese man in curiosity – a face they did not recognize.

"Your fish are quite smart too, aru…" The Chinese man blinked.

"They just like Yao very much, like me! I tell fish about Yao all the time, da~~" The Russian said.

Yao blinked once more, surprised. "…Ivan?" He turned his dark eyes upwards, and met the Russian's sparkling ones.

"'_Yao is always very nice to me, and buys me nice things to make me happy; but Yao doesn't need to buy me nice things to make me happy, da~? …Yao always smiles at me too…Not many people take care of me the way Yao takes care of me; most people think tall people do not need to be taken care of, but that's not true! Yao knows that too; Yao cares about my feelings._'" Ivan paused. "…That's what I tell them."

Yao, eyes widening, did not know what to say. The Russian merely smiled back, looking a little sheepish.

"And '_Ivan likes Yao very, __**very**__ much_'!" Strong arms tightened around Yao's smaller frame and pulled him closer towards the broad chest behind him.

Yao blushed; "…Th-Thanks, Ivan…aru…" He tucked his hair behind his ears; it was one of his habits when he was nervous or flustered. "I…I like you very much too, aru…"

"…Oh for _God's sakes_! Get a room somewhere else!" Alfred exclaimed in exasperation somewhere behind them, but was ignored.

_Alfred will survive one more day with fish-watchers…_Yao thought, comfortable and warm in the Russian's embrace.

~o0o0o0o0o~

The doorbell rang, and Arthur dashed towards it. Skidding to an abrupt halt in front of the door, he took a deep breath, and, though he hated to admit it, hoped to whatever deity watching over him that it was Alfred behind the door, coming over to apologize with perhaps a cup of nasty mop water to make up for what he did.

Turning his eyes briefly to a nearby mirror, he tried once again to tame his hair and fixed his collars, which stuck out a little awkwardly.

The doorbell rang again, and, muttering under his breath about turning into the "narcissistic French bastard", turned the lock knob and swung open the door.

Funny how life worked; in front of him, with a bouquet of red roses and dressed as if the definition of a fop, stood the "narcissistic French bastard".

"_Bonjour_, Arthur!" Francis gave a bright grin.

The door was slammed in his face.

Muttering and angry at himself for being an idiot for feeling disappointed, the British man stomped away.

"…Arthur?" A voice called out from the kitchen; "Who was it?"

"No one!" Arthur snapped an answer, plopping down onto his favourite chair in the dining room.

Matthew stuck his head out, a small, confused frown on his face. Wiping his hand clean on a paper towel, he walked to the door, giving his cousin a few looks before opening it once more.

"…_Mon amour!_" Francis gave another bright grin.

"-Francis!" The Canadian gasped, eyes lighting up immediately, "You-You're here awfully early!"

Just as Francis was about to reply, Matthew held up a hand; "Hold on a second, please." Turning around, hands on his hips, he pouted at the back of Arthur's head; "Arthur! How could you be so rude? That was uncalled for!"

A snort replied to Matthew along with an angry page-flipping of newspapers.

"Honestly!" The Canadian huffed.

Chuckling quietly, more amused than offended, Francis gave a few, swift knocks on the door; "May I come in?" He quirked his head to the side.

"-Oh! Of course!" Matthew, turning around, blushed and opened the door wider.

Before he made to enter, however, the Frenchman reached out a hand and pulled the Canadian close for a peck on the lips. Leaning back slightly, he motioned at the roses, "These are for you, _mon beau chéri_."

"Oh dear…" The strawberry blonde blushed harder, eyes round and bright, "I can open a flower shop with all these bouquets you give me all the time, eh?" Giving a small, shy smile, he took the roses into his arms, hugging them snuggly against his chest. "_Merci très beaucoup!_" He said, standing onto tiptoes and giving Francis a peck of his own.

In the background, Arthur made a disgusted grunt; "For _God's sakes_, get a room somewhere else!"

Matthew turned around and stuck out a tongue; "You're just jealous, eh!"

To that Arthur kept quiet.

Inviting his guest in, the half-skipping Canadian placed the roses carefully down onto the dining table, and proceeded to find a vase.

"Would you like something to drink?" He called out to Francis, taking out a tall glass from the kitchen cupboard as a makeshift vase, since all the actual vases were already occupied by other flowers, and paused in closing the door of cupboard.

"I'm…fine, actually; don't trouble yourself." A smooth voice answered, and the sound of a chair being pulled back could be heard.

Walking back into the dining room with the tall glass half-filled with water, Matthew mentally sighed as Arthur was, as expected, glaring daggers over his newspaper and tea at Francis, who simply ignored him.

"It won't be troubling anyone," Matthew said, putting the roses into the tall glass, frowning a little as it looked like it was about to tip over anytime.

"…Your existence in itself is a bother, _Bonnefoy_…" Arthur muttered.

Choosing not to comment, the youngest of the three addressed his guest, "What are you doing here so early, eh? Not that I mind of course, just wondering…" He pushed his glasses up as they slid down a little.

"I simply want to spend some time with you before I drive you to work," Francis gave a loving smile, to which Matthew gladly returned.

Grimacing at the two lovebirds beaming at each other, Arthur cut in: "…This is sickeningly sweet; why can't you do this elsewhere, preferably not right in front of my face?" The third-wheel in the room wore a dark expression on his face, bushy eyebrows jerking in annoyance.

Sighing, Matthew nodded; "_Alright; alright_…I'll go get my things and we'll leave you alone to your tea, Mr. Kirkland." Giving a large, exaggerated bow and earning himself an irritated sniff, the Canadian threw off his apron and hurried to his room to grab his coat and bag.

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly at the "Don't get too intimate!" from Arthur as they left through the door, Matthew waved with a smile and bid his cousin goodbye.

Walking into the elevator, Francis inquired; "He still hasn't spoken to Alfred?"

"No…" The Canadian sighed; "He's _extremely_ determined to get Alfred to come over and beg for forgiveness this time."

"Does Alfred plan to apologize?" Francis lifted up an eyebrow, "Despite of his careless attitude, Alfred is quite proud and self-justifying."

"I don't know…I haven't really been going over to the agency for the past little while," Scratching the back of his head, the Canadian felt a little bad, "It's been quite busy at the book café."

With a small "ding", the elevator doors opened to the ground floor, and the two walked out.

"Why do you insist to work so hard, Matthieu? From what I've gathered, Arthur can easily afford everything, _non_?"

"Yeah…But I'd feel bad if I don't at least pay for half of the rent…" They exited the apartment building, and Francis wrapped an arm around Matthew's waist to lead him to where the car was parked.

It wasn't long before they reached the sleek-looking vehicle.

"How does Arthur support himself?" The Frenchman asked, curious, as he held the passenger door open for the Canadian, "It appears that he doesn't worry about finances at all."

"Arthur's family is very wealthy, one of the oldest in Great Britain I heard," Matthew explained after thanking Francis for opening the door for him. Settling into his seat, he looked up, "They were generous with helping me with my schooling and things after my parents passed away." He blinked; "Though they were always overseas, they made sure I was well looked after." He gave a small smile.

Francis nodded, and, leaning in to give the seated man a kiss on the cheek, he closed the door. Walking around the car to the driver's side, he wondered about the other man's family life.

Matthew didn't like to talk about his parents, so he knew close to nothing except that Mr. and Mrs. Williams passed on when Matthew was just a toddler.

He wasn't even quite sure _how_ they passed on, but did not want to be nosy, especially not when the strawberry blonde got upset every time he thought about them.

Opening his own door and sitting down into the car, he was pulling out into the street when Matthew voiced a question.

"What about you, Francis? You don't seem to be worrying over money either."

Giving a soft hum, he answered with: "I've always been quite fortunate."

Matthew blinked when nothing else was added to the statement. While he didn't inquire further, thinking it was impolite to press on, he wondered.

Regardless of how in love with himself the Frenchman proclaimed to be, he talked very little of his family and personal life, especially during the time when he was in France, and, when asked, gave lukewarm answers. It was strange, since he was very proud of his French heritage, as well as everything that had anything to do with his home country.

Their conversations always ended up revolving around Matthew, and, despite of how embarrassed and unused to being the center of attention the younger man usually was, Francis had such a smooth way of talking that it made everything comfortable and natural.

"What about Alfred?" Matthew decided to change the direction of the subject.

"Alfred?" Francis had a thoughtful expression as he turned the car around a corner; "…What I know about him I gathered from his complaints." He chuckled a little. "His father, according to him, is very strict and believes that everyone should make their own places in the world instead of 'leeching off' from their parents. Alfred never got along with elder Mr. Jones past the age of twelve, when he became old enough to start challenging his old man's domineering ways; last time he talked about his father, it was over a permanent cut of family ties."

"…Ouch. Isn't that kind of harsh?" Not that Matthew really knew much from personal experience how parents were supposed to be like, but, from what he learnt from his friends' families, he assumed this did not happen often.

…_This might be why Alfred's uncle is so worried about him…_

"Depends on how one looks at it, _non_?" Francis gave a comforting smile, though his eyes remained on the road; "Home is where you make it; the office _is_ Alfred's home, which is why he is always there."

"…I hope we get a case soon; things don't look too good for the agency, eh?" Biting on his lips, Matthew looked down, fiddling with his sleeves; "If anyone, Alfred could use some cheering up. We all know _Arthur_ isn't planning on doing that anytime soon…" He heaved a frustrated sigh; sometimes his cousin can be so _dense_…

Francis laughed a little, nodding; "Perhaps we should trick them into going to dinner with each other again, _hmmm_?" He suggested with a wink.

"Oh no! Please don't! Last time we did that it was a _disaster_! Sometimes I _still_ get the feeling Arthur hasn't fully forgiven me over it yet…" Groaning, he plopped his head against the window of the car, which caused Francis to laugh once again and reach over a hand to ruffle his hair affectionately.

"I'm afraid I never learnt what actually happened between those two this time around…" He gave Matthew a curious glance as he retrieved his hand.

"I'm not too sure either…Arthur won't talk to me about it." The Canadian shrugged.

After a brief moment of silence, the Frenchman murmured, an amused, knowing smile in his warm voice, "…Do you plan to inquire about Ivan and Yao as well?"

Matthew tried to hide his blush; it was as if Francis could hear his thoughts. "Well…I'm—I'm just wondering, eh…? I mean…I saw Ivan a couple of times before, but not really recently…" _I hope I'm not being too nosy…_

"Of course, _mon ange_. It's good that you wish to learn of how your friends are." After the car turned another corner, the longer-haired blonde gave him a quick, encouraging smile. "…Ivan…last time I had a chat with him, he mentioned a job at a liquor store; he said they had good vodka. I didn't get a chance to talk much with him since he dominated our brief conversation with telling me about his fish – he speaks of them as though a proud mother about her children." Shaking his head gently, a strand of blond wave fell over his smiling face; "Yao has his own fortune-telling shop in Chinatown; you can find him there most of the time when we don't have any cases on our hands."

"Yao can do fortune-telling?"

"_Oui_, he can do many things."

As they stopped at a red light, Matthew turned to Francis and tilted his head to the side; "What do _you_ do on your spare time, Francis?"

Turning to meet his curious gaze, the Frenchman's smile grew wider as his eyes held their usual shimmer; "Why I share _l'amour_ with the world, of course!"

~o0o0o0o0o~

"Good evening!" Swinging the door open, Matthew jumped into the office, a big, happy smile on his face, holding up a bag as if a trophy, "Look what we brought you, Alfred!"

The American, sitting on the sofa with legs propped up on the table, threw the newspapers he was reading down and gasped, eyes widening; "Burgers?"

"Home made burgers!"

Alfred jumped up from his seat, gasping louder and round eyes widening even further, and sprinted to the Canadian, cheering loudly with a big, bright grin. "Mattie you're the best!"

"Actually, it was Francis who made them," Handing the bag to the anxiously waiting American, Matthew pointed to the Frenchman, who was just walking through the door.

"I didn't know you can make burgers, Francis." Alfred immediately took one out from the bag and began to stuff his face. Casting the fashionable man an impressed glance, he spoke with his mouth full, "Man, it's _really_ good! You should open a restaurant; I'd totally go everyday!"

Francis lifted an eyebrow, "_Anyone_ can make burgers, Alfred, but thank you for your compliments." He chuckled, shaking his head as the burger lover swallowed too much all at once and started to make strangled grunts, gesturing wildly at Matthew to bring him water.

"Arthur helped, you know," Matthew said as Alfred gulped down the water.

"Oh…Yeah…?" The other bespectacled man sent him a few careful glances, taking more bites of the burger quickly diminishing in his hand. "How's…How's he doing?" The American tried to sound casual, but failed quite miserably.

"He's doing alright." Matthew blinked, and waited for Alfred to ask more questions, but, to his surprise, the taller male merely nodded and turned away, slowly walking back to the sofas, looking into the bag at the other burgers.

"…I thought…he'd ask more questions." He said as Francis came closer and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Alfred doesn't do well in chitchat, I'm afraid," Giving the strawberry blonde a nice grope on the butt and laughing a little in good humour at how the shorter male yelped and huffed at him with reddening cheeks, he suggested in a smooth, warm voice, "Let's not stand at the door, _hmmm_? Come, _mon ange_…"

Matthew was glad no one saw that little gesture, though, secretly, he wished Francis' hand had stayed there longer.

Shaking off the embarrassing thoughts, he heard the door being pushed close, and made his way further into the office.

He was going towards the sofas, but halted in his steps as he turned to the side of the room.

"Ivan?"

The Russian was, as expected, in front of the fish tank, smiling and murmuring in an endearing manner. He only turned around once to reply before his attention shifted back to his little pets; "Привет~~ How are you, Matthew?"

Wondering how the fish were doing, he excused himself from Francis' company and went to join the tall man.

Francis found a comfortable seat opposite of Alfred, who was munching on the burgers with such horrible and messy manners the Frenchman visibly winced, and started to berate him on the finer ways of dining in a smooth tone and small, graceful hand gestures.

"Don't tell me how I should eat my burgers." Matthew heard Alfred say through a mouthful.

Francis tutted; "You should add '_s'il te plaît'_ after a request, _monsieur_."

"_S'il te_-yeah whatever."

Matthew muffled a laugh before addressing his Russian friend.

"I'm great! How are you and your fish, eh?"

"We are all very happy, da~!" The taller man looked down and gave him a big smile, eyes shimmering pleasantly.

"That's wonderful!" Returning the smile, he turned to the fish tank; "They're not as shy as when they first got here, eh?" A red fish swam by; seeing a new face, it turned its head to stare but ended up smooching the glass. As it swam away hurriedly as if embarrassed, Matthew gave a small laugh, tickled.

"Da~~ They are very friendly!" Ivan's expression grew warmer and brighter as he saw the interaction between the Canadian and his fish; he pointed at the red one as it reappeared from behind a rock, "He loves to give kisses."

"I see," Giving Ivan a playful wink, the strawberry blonde whispered in a slightly teasing tone, "You sure trained him well, eh? For _who_ I wonder…" He nudged the Russian slightly.

To his amused surprise, the taller man actually blushed and looked away.

"I…I just want to be good to them since they are Yao's present for me…da…" He murmured, hiding the lower half of his face by nuzzling into his scarf, and shuffled on his feet much like a child trying to play secretive while being caught red-handed.

"That's very sweet of you, Ivan; I'm sure you make Yao a very happy man!" Matthew gave firm nods.

"Matthew…Yao is my friend, da?"

Then came a snort from behind them. Turning to the source of the noise, they saw Alfred and Francis watching them, while the former chewed on his mouthful of burger.

"Yeeeaaaah, Ivan, _everyone_ knows he's your '_friend'_." At Francis' disapproving glance, the American swallowed before speaking again; "And the two of you can to be '_great friends'_ together _forever_!"

"At least that is better than how you are with Arthur, da?" Ivan retorted.

Alfred blinked, and, indignation forming a pout on his face, sat up higher in his seat; "Hey! That's—" He paused. "-not…well…" His face flushed red in an instance, "-Shut up!"

Laughter rang inside the office, accompanied by Alfred's annoyed grumbling about an "ungrateful communist Russian bastard".

"Poor Alfred, don't be sad! Mother Russia will make you feel better!" Ivan, just to spite Alfred's comment, strode across the room and opened his arms wide, an almost leering grin on his pale face, "_Become one with mother Russia, da~~?_" Without warning, he pulled the blonde sitting on the sofa into his arms and against his chest quite tightly, almost suffocating the other poor man.

"Wha-AAARGHH—" Alfred struggled, protesting loudly and flailing about, pushing and kicking, "Get offa me! I will fight your evil regime like a true, _American_ hero!" Matthew was amazed at how the bespectacled blonde, through all his thrashing, was careful to not drop his burger.

"You will never escape mother Russia, _da~~?_" Ivan only hugged tighter, and patted Alfred's messy head of hair lovingly.

Francis, shaking his head, chuckled, leaning his head to the side and into his palm; "I don't understand what is happening anymore."

Alfred managed to pull his head out from being pressed against the broad chest, and, trying to keep up the act and not grin, shouted out, "Noooo! This can't be! Your hug of communism is overpowering me!" Eyes squeezing together, loud laughter almost cut off his statements. "No! The hero always wins in the end!" He kicked harder with his legs, but ended up tripping his taller playful aggressor.

Ivan let out a small yelp of surprise, and stumbled, falling over and onto the slightly smaller-framed blonde he held insistently in his arms.

"-AAAHHHH!" The American hollered, sandwiched between the sofa and the larger-boned man, struggling increasing in force and earnestness, "No! You're going to squish my burger!"

"S-Stop moving, da! I—I can't—" The Russian half-whined and became a little flustered. Alfred's almost violent floundering about not only did not help, but also managed to make their positions more awkward and hard to get out of as limbs intertwined around each other and clothes got caught on clasps and buttons.

In short, the two became a tangled mess on the sofa.

Francis, noting the sudden change of events, began to straighten his posture as a delighted smirk appeared on his face, eyes sparkling in mirth and something quite hard to place. Giving a small hum, he mumbled under his breath: "_Ahhh, oui... C'est beaucoup plus intéressant..._" Long fingers tapping on smiling lips, he watched with keen, bright eyes as the two on the opposite couch battled to steer upright.

Ivan, perhaps annoyed with Alfred, started trying to counter the American's thrashing, which, expectedly, made things worse at a quicker speed.

Matthew, scratching the back of his head and walking closer, gave a weak laugh. "Now, Alfred, you aren't helping, eh…and neither are you, Ivan. Hold still." He approached the two, trying to stop the playful animosity from growing as violet eyes met shiny blue and their respectful owners started to wrestle each other.

"You're not gonna stay up there for long, Braginski!" Alfred, a challenging grin on his face, pushed with all his might to topple the Russian over.

"Нет! Я буду побеждать!" Ivan replied heatedly, bright eyes glittering madly and a smug smirk plastered over his expressions.

A few grunts and barked laughter later, Alfred's burger, being jolted by a sudden movement from the man on top, slipped out of his hand and fell onto the floor.

"-NO! MY BURGER!" Alfred's reaction was quite genuine as he mourned the loss of his most beloved. He sent the Russian an angry pout, though the mischievousness never quite left his eyes; "YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS, IVAN!" With renewed energy, he let out a forceful growl, eyes flashing in victory as the bigger man, who did not expect his sudden surge of strength, stumbled and lost his balance.

Ivan, yelping and cursing in Russian, was persistent, and brought the other blonde down with him as he rolled off the sofa, back thumping onto the floor and squishing the fallen burger.

"-NOOOO! BURGER KILLER!" Alfred's shocked face was comical, and Francis laughed. However, the shock did not stay for long as Ivan, catching this opportunity, used Alfred's distraction to turn their positions around, rolling on top once again.

Matthew, eyes widening, was suddenly aware that they were rolling towards him.

"Wait—Don't—" He didn't even finish his sentence when the entangled bodies crashed into his legs, and, scrambling and shouting in alarm, he lost his footing.

And fell on top of the two.

Alfred chose that moment to overturn the Russian once more, and ended up successfully pulling Matthew into the mess.

The Canadian, crying out in dismay, was pressed into the ground by not only Ivan's weight, but Alfred's as well.

"-H-HELP! FRANCIS! FRANCIS!" Shouting frantically as the duo still wrestled on top of him, Matthew felt the air in his lungs being forced out and could've sworn he heard his spine popping.

"-Alright, that is quite enough, _mes chers enfants_." Francis stood up, hands at his hips and looking strangely parental, though his expression was still that of extreme amusement and laughter, much to Matthew's annoyance.

"_Help meeeee!_" The Canadian whined desperately.

Huffing more chuckles, the Frenchman lightly swatted Alfred and Ivan on the head, "I will give you each a spanking if you do not stop right now, _oui_?" His voice was low and half-whispered, its velvety texture matching the twinkle in his half-lidded eyes, though, oddly, it was quite threatening as well.

"-Not until he admits that the hero wins!" Alfred barked out defiantly.

"_Hmmmm…?_" Lifting an eyebrow, Francis raised a hand.

There was a loud slap echoing in the room when Alfred cried out in shock and pain.

"OW! WHAT THE HELL FRANCIS!" Alfred, trying to pull away and accidentally wiggling his butt rather invitingly in the air, sent a wide-eyed look up at the Frenchman, "Where the hell did you learn to hit that hard? _Ow!_"

At the wide, leering grin directed back at him, he gulped: "Wait…I don't wanna know…"

Matthew, hiding his flaming red cheeks, was actually a little jealous of Alfred.

…_Only a little bit!_

"Will you comply now, Alfred?" Francis asked again, and when the American didn't answer right away, he raised his hand menacingly.

"-Okay! Okay! _Geez_…Don't get your panties in a twist…" Mumbling under his breath, the top-most blonde tried to get his limbs out from the heap, but, after many tries, found that he couldn't. "Uhhh…I'm kinda stuck…" Squinting, he tried to see how to untangle himself with his lopsided glasses.

Ivan looked up at him with round eyes, blinking innocently.

"Don't worry, _mon ami_; I will help you." Humming, Francis began to assess the mess, and, after a few silent moments, he began to instruct Alfred and Ivan to unravel themselves.

Taking a deep breath and reveling in the feeling of his lungs expanding again, Matthew got up from the floor, being led up by a helping hand from Francis, though, in truth, it wasn't really needed, but the gesture was sweet. Dusting his sleeves and pants, the Canadian, biting his lips and face flushed, pretended to not notice the Frenchman lingering an affectionate touch on his bum, patting off dust.

Ivan, not really caring that he now had a big smudge of sauces on his back from the burger he fell onto, started humming a song under his breath and heading back to his much-loved fish. "That was fun, da! We should do that again sometimes!" He turned his head slightly and smiled at Alfred, who snorted.

"Yeah, fun for _you_! I had to suffer through the pain of seeing my burger being squished to death!" The blonde sent a sad glance at the flattened, half-eaten burger, and sighed, grabbing the bag on the table.

"So…Alfred, I've been wondering, eh?" Seeing the American look up from the bag, Matthew continued carefully, "What…happened exactly, between you and Arthur?" Francis gave Matthew's clothes a few more gentle pats, and tilted his head curiously as well.

"_I_ don't even know." Alfred sighed again, throwing himself onto the sofa and groaning. Taking a bite of his newly-acquired burger, he said, "Everything was going fine. I even made him laugh when I told him one of those stupid British jokes!"

That was quite an achievement, since Arthur seemed to have a permanent cynical scowl of displeasure printed on his face.

"Well, when did he start being angry at you?" Matthew sat down on the opposite sofa.

Francis settled down beside him, looping an arm around his shoulders.

Alfred chewed, screwing his eyebrows together in concentration as he thought back, "Uhhhhm…we were…planning a vacation or something. He actually asked _me_, you know!" Swallowing a mouthful, he continued; "He has to go to some wizard thing a couple of weeks from now, and asked if I wanted to go with him. I said I doubt I'll have enough money even by then, but he called me stupid and said he's gonna pay for everything 'cause he's inviting me. Usually I don't like letting someone else pay for me, you know, but…well…it's _Arthur_! _He's_ inviting _me_ to go somewhere _alone_ with him! I can't pass that chance! I can pay him back afterwards anyways." At Alfred's enthusiastic exclaims, Francis chose not to point out how he wasn't going to be exactly "_alone_" with the British man since it sounded like an event of some sort. Besides, "alone time" with someone like Arthur was probably going to be dramatically different than with his cute little Matthieu.

The Canadian, on the other hand, was surprised at how forward his cousin was, directly asking Alfred like that. He, for one, didn't know anything about this "wizard thing". Thinking there must be a reason the Brit didn't mention it to him, – perhaps embarrassed at whatever happened next? – he waited for Alfred to continue.

"I was psyched! I was planning on taking my suits to the drycleaner's and everything! …But then he just got mad at me."

Matthew blinked; "…Wait—What? …That's it?"

"Yeah…" Alfred heaved another deep sigh, facial expression dropping to a dejected frown, and actually put down his _burger_.

"Are you…_sure_ you didn't do anything else?" Unconvinced that his cousin would get angry just like that and ignore someone over nothing, he pressed on.

"I'm _totally_ sure!" The American suddenly became heatedly defensive, "I kissed him too! And lemme tell you I am one good kisser." A proud grin made its way across Alfred's face; "He became all twitchy and embarrassed and so friggin' adorable! So I kissed him again and patted his eyebrows—"

"-YOU DID _WHAT_?" Matthew instantly leapt up onto his feet, eyes wide open and mouth agape. Even Ivan jumped at the sudden outburst, looking back with curiosity.

"-_Oh mon Dieu…_" Francis face-palmed.

"…What?" Wincing at the Canadian's sharp shriek, Alfred scratched the back of his head, voice slightly whined, "They looked so fuzzy and cute so I wanted to touch them! If-If you were that close to him you'd want to do that too!"

Matthew was so in shock he could barely think.

No, scratch that; he couldn't think _at all_ staring in incredulousness at the oblivious (and absolutely _incredibly_ STUPID) American in front of him.

"I…beg to differ, Alfred," Francis spoke up instead; "You are perhaps the only person who would risk his life doing such a thing. I'm surprised those monstrous things didn't bite your finger off."

Letting out a loud groan and falling back onto the sofa, Matthew put his face into his hands. "You're not helping, Francis!" Tilting his face up a little bit, he glared with all his might at the short-haired blonde sitting opposite of him.

"He's _never_ going to forgive you! …And you deserve it this time too!"

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

_mon beau chéri_ – my beautiful darling

_Merci très beaucoup!_ – Thank you very much!

_mon ange_ – my angel (I don't remember if I used/translated this one before; chances are I have, but it won't hurt to translate it again XD)

Привет~~ – Greetings/Hello~~

_Ahhh, oui... C'est beaucoup plus intéressant..._ – Ahhh, yes... This is much more interesting...

Нет! Я буду побеждать! – No! I will win!

_mes chers enfants_ –my dear children

_mon ami_ –my friend (Again, I might've used/translated this before, but yeah.)

Correct me if anything's wrong, please! D:

**Ending Notes:** The next case officially starts next chapter! This was kind of…building a bridge towards it or something? Yeah…XD

I just would like to say that...writing Ivan and his fish is one of the most fun things I've ever written - they're so adorable! –many many hearts– Writing Arthur was fun too; anyone notice he said the exact same thing as Alfred in the same morning? Haha! :D

I tried to show a more, for the lack of a better word, touchy-feely (and gropy) side of Francis, 'cause I mean, give the guy a break, yeah? He's dating his little Matthieu now, so he can do those things, especially since his little Matthieu doesn't really mind~~ ;p

I _HAD_ TO SOMEHOW INCORPORATE IVAN'S "BECOME ONE WITH RUSSIA" IN HERE! I mean, come on, it's like, his _thing_, ya know~ If it's a bit forced, I'm really sorry about that; I really am, but I had to do it! ;)

Alfred and Ivan are such big children. Arthur's "wizard thing" will come back later on. I have to start planning things for the entirety of the plot now, and it's kinda confusing to be honest…(&#(*&^#*

I'm thinking of writing 4 cases in total (I have a feeling the third and fourth one will be long…), with bridging chapters between them. There will be more Hetalia folks making their way into the story; three will be appearing in the next chapter.

I will give you two hints as to who they are:

- one of them plays an essential part in the next case

- the other two are married

…ok fine those aren't really hints but if I give too much it'd be too easy for you to guess who they are and take the surprise out of it XD

Anyways, sorry again for the lateness of this update, and sorry that there's no supernatural stuff in this chapter! ;_; I promise we're gonna jump right into the creepy starting in the next one!

Reviews are soul-food for a hungry author! …Don't make me dish out Matthew-puppy-eyes again :D

I seriously love you guys. –sniffles and hugs–

Ps: Say, if you had a fish tank, how many of y'all would love to wake up in the middle of the night to find Ivan standing in front of it? …and how many would get freaked out?


	12. CASE2: Natalia, Part 1

**Author's Notes:** OFFICIAL START OF SECOND CASE! :D

_Big thanks to all of you guys so, so, SOO much for everything you've done for me!_ I'd type a huge long paragraph on how much I love you all but I think you guys'd much rather read the actual chapter more sooooo:

THANK YOU; THANK YOU! Please enjoy! =)

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Case 2: Natalia**

Singing a Russian folksong and skipping down the street, Ivan swung the brown-bag covered bottle of vodka in his hand, the other waving at whoever he passed on the sidewalk at two in the morning. He was in a great mood after a late night of hanging out with his coworkers from the liquor store, and was headed towards the agency to celebrate his paycheck with his beloved fish, though they can't drink vodka with him unfortunately.

He twirled on his feet, laughing as his breath created a cloud in front of him in the cold night air. Jumping over puddles and ignoring the thin rain still falling from dark clouds overhead, he created quite a scene, not only with his singing, but simply the sight of him was enough to cause lingering stares.

From top to bottom, he was, once again, wearing mainly light colours of beige and soft browns, creating an almost halo around his large form under the street lamps. He didn't seem to be aware of how damp his pale, blond hair was; joyful, violet eyes shone in the dark like hovering orbs. Scarf flapping in the wind behind him, his dark boots made thudding sounds on the wet ground.

The Russian sent most of his income home to his sisters, Yekaterina and Natalia, and only kept enough for a small apartment and food, so it wasn't often he spoiled himself.

Despite of what many people believed, he was quite responsible, and took good care of his family, especially since the violent and sudden deaths of his parents, leaving the three siblings with a rather large sum of money and a big house, though, since the three were young, they were not able to obtain legal rights and had practically everything stolen from them right under their noses.

However, unbeknownst to others, the three enjoyed living in a smaller, but homey place, and were satisfied as they had enough for buying food to eat. Yekaterina, the oldest, along with Ivan, both found jobs, and supported their little sister's schooling.

They cried and comforted each other on days when the abrupt, unnatural losses of their mother and father was too painful to bear, and celebrated Christmas especially festively the times when Ivan managed to sneak a small tree from the market, where he worked, to their home.

Natalia always loved to decorate the tree with whatever she could find. Her twinkling, large blue eyes beaming with happiness made all the hardships they had to go through worth it.

However, as their lives grew stable and content, Natalia's life took a drastic, downhill turn when something that can barely be considered as an illness infested her body, which was what ultimately prompted Ivan to leave home to seek for a "cure" while Yekaterina stayed home, taking care of their sister and trying to find help around the city. By a mere stroke luck or fate, Ivan, traveling around Europe, met Alfred's uncle, and was asked to join Alfred's agency.

It was good pay (it was surprising how much people were willing to pay them to take care of what they feared), at least during good economic times, and a job that increased his chances of actually finding a way to make his younger sister better. After brief consultation with Yekaterina, Ivan stepped onto the plane to America.

Singing a different song, the tall Russian turned a corner and quickened his steps. He couldn't wait to see the happy faces of his little fish as they congratulated him. It had also been a while since he'd had good vodka. He was in such an elevated mood he did not seem bothered at all that he was walking down a rather seedy-looking alley.

"Калинка, калинка, калинка моя~!" He thought he sang pretty good for someone who'd never had training, and enjoyed the way his somewhat childish voice bounced between the tall walls of the narrow alleyway and echoed.

Suddenly a sound caught his attention, and his song faded off to a hum as he looked around, round eyes curious. The night was dark as it is, and the little passageway he was currently in had no lamps, which made it, quite literally, close to pitch black. He only chose to take this shortcut at such an odd hour because he already walked it enough times to know it as well as the backs of his hands; though…it was hard to see the backs of his hands too at the moment, if he thought about it.

Shrugging and continuing on, he had just started to go back to his singing when the sound reached his ears again. Turning around once more, he squinted his eyes.

"…Hmmmm?" He scratched the back of his head with his vacant hand. "…Hello?" He called.

There was a shuffle; it was closer to him than he had anticipated.

"Is anyone there?" He asked, standing still, but turning his head to look around.

There was a crash as something fell, startling him a little.

This time, the sound was behind him. Following the direction of the noise, he called out again: "It's alright to come out, da~? I won't hurt you."

There was another shuffling sound, and, suddenly, almost as if appearing out of nowhere, a small, white cat came out from behind an abandoned, old sofa, meowing softly, looking a little frightened.

"There you are~" Ivan's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, and quickly knelt down, facing the small, furry animal, who was possibly hiding from the drizzling rain.

Extending a hand, he beckoned the little cat to come closer; "Do you have a home, little one? If you don't, I have a home for you, da~? You can keep Alfred company; he is always so sad these days, you will be good and make him happy, da~~?" The cat came out of his hiding spot a little, sniffing at Ivan's big, gloved hand, and Ivan laughed, a sweet, clear sound echoing in the narrow alley.

Suddenly the little fluff-ball looked upwards, and started to hiss in a menacing manner, retreating back into his hiding spot.

Ivan blinked, confused, and beckoned with his hand once more in encouragement.

"Come on, little one, don't be afraid."

The cat disappeared behind the broken sofa; the Russian could still hear him hissing threateningly.

"…Kitty…?"

Someone giggled behind him, and he was suddenly aware of warm breath tickling the shell of his ear.

"…Добрый вечер, мой брат…" An eerily familiar voice purred.

There was a blood-hurling scream of terror as all lights around the block turned on instantly; people stuck their heads out to see what was happening, but all overlooked a small, narrow alleyway for a possible place of where the shriek had come from.

~o0o0o0o0o~

_Someone was crying…_

…_Was it—_

…_no, it wasn't him; he felt no tears on his cheeks as he touched them._

_...who was it?_

_He looked around._

_It was dark, as if an endlessly vast room, unlit and without boundaries._

_The weeping suddenly seemed to focus to his right, and he turned, trying hard to see through the inky black mass all around him. It almost felt as though if he were to extend his hand, he'd be able to touch the darkness._

_Tentatively, he began to walk towards the general direction of where the sound came from._

_It wasn't long before he saw a form, bent over and huddled on the ground._

_As he walked closer, he recognized the figure as that of a young girl._

_Long, silvery blonde hair almost shone amongst the blackness, cascading down her back as if a waterfall of silky strands. Her shoulders quavered at an uneven tempo, matching her hitched breaths and sobs. Her face was hidden behind a curtain of shimmering hair that fell from behind her shoulders, covered by pale, slender hands._

_There was blood seeping from between her fingers, and he gasped, immediately concerned._

"…_Are-Are you okay? What happened?" His voice sounded as if he was underwater._

_The girl did not answer, but curled into herself even further, almost completely doubled over._

_He walked closer, kneeling beside the frail, shaking figure, and carefully placed a hand on the young girl's shoulder._

"_Are you…hurt?" He asked again, "…Maybe I can help you, eh?" He used what he thought was a soothing voice._

_The girl shifted a little, and tilted her head to his direction._

"…_Брат?" A whisper answered him._

_He blinked, and, at first, thought it was accented English and tried to decipher it. However, it quickly dawned to him that it was clearly another language, blurred and muffled._

"…_Ehh…It's-It's okay…here let me—" With gentle hands, he guided the girl to an upright sitting position, and tried to take her hands away from her face._

_She gasped, snapping away abruptly._

"_Нет! Вы будете бояться!" She cried out, hands refusing to leave her face._

_He blinked, not sure how to comfort the young girl. Trying once more, he rubbed her shaky shoulders; "It's okay…I can help you." He wasn't sure if she understood him at all, but tried to use the tone of his voice to get his intentions across._

_There was a pause, and he took it as a sign to continue._

_Scooting to settle down into a kneeling position across from her, he carefully held onto her hands._

"…_it's okay…it's okay, eh…?" He wasn't sure who those words were for; his heart beat loudly inside his chest, nervous._

_He guided her hands away, and bit back a wince at how much blood coated her palms and fingers. Lifting his eyes up to take a look at what he thought must be a nasty cut, he froze at what he actually saw in front of him._

_Blood washed down her cheeks in torrents, dribbling down her chin and seeping into the top of her dress._

_Where her eyes were supposed to be, there was mangled, ripped flesh._

_It was as if someone had taken a knife and gauged them out._

_Gaping holes stared back at him, horrible and tender._

…

…_Drip…_

…_Drip…drip…_

…

_Blood dripped down her chin, and onto her thighs._

_He held her hands, frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from the terrifying sight._

_She tilted her head; it was as if she could see him._

"_... Кто - Вы ...?"_

_He gasped, suddenly snapped out of his shocked stupor, and felt a wretched scream of panicking horror starting to erupt from his throat._

…

"-Matthieu?"

"…Uhgghhnnnmmm—?" He jumped, head bumping against something hard, and mumbled awake. Lifting his head, he noticed that the "something hard" he bumped into was the car window.

Groaning, he rubbed his sore arm that he used as a cushion for his head as he fell asleep on his side, and looked around groggily. It took him a while to realize the world was blurry because his glasses were askew on his nose.

His vision instantly cleared when he righted them; he looked around once more.

He recognized that he was in the passenger seat of Francis' car. Turning to his left, he met the Frenchman's slightly curious, but mainly worried eyes.

They stopped at a red light, he also noticed.

"…Matthieu? …Is something wrong, _mon chéri_?" Francis reached over to him and brushed aside strands of hair that fell in front of his eyes; the hand remained cupped around his cheek in a loving gesture.

Francis' hand was warm, and he nuzzled into it, sighing.

"I'm—…No…I just had a weird dream, that's all…" He gave an involuntary shudder, the image of the eyeless girl still fresh in his mind.

Francis wore a small frown on his face, though the Canadian did not see it as his eyes fluttered close.

"I shouldn't have insisted on the movie; you seem exhausted." The Frenchman murmured, voice velvety and tone warm. "_Pardonnes-moi, s'il te plaît?_"

"…Hmmmm…?" Matthew stifled a yawn; "Oh no, don't worry about me, eh? I wanted to see the movie too. Besides, I have an afternoon shift tomorrow, so I can sleep in!" He opened his eyes, and gave Francis a big, happy, toothy grin that was almost cheeky.

The Frenchman couldn't help but break into a smile of his own. Ruffling the strawberry blonde's already somewhat messy hair affectionately, he leaned over and gave the Canadian a chaste kiss, muffling the smaller man's half-hearted protests at the maltreatment of his hair.

Taking his hand back unwillingly as the light turned green, he leaned away and made a left turn.

"What did you dream about, Matthieu? If I may ask," Francis tone was polite, but Matthew could hear curiosity quite clearly. He took pride in that, over the past few weeks, he'd learnt to at least be able to read Francis' expressions and whatnot somewhat accurately, though there were still times when he quite frankly didn't know how to interpret the older man at all.

"I'm not sure, eh…it was very confusing." It wasn't a lie; he knew it was probably something important, but didn't want to worry anyone before he could figure out what it meant.

All of his dreams, aside from the usual one involving what happened in his childhood years ago, had _some_ value as premonitions.

After a silent moment of contemplation, he shook his head; "No…I can't figure it out, but I'll let you know if it's reoccurring." Tilting his head towards Francis, he gave a slightly apologetic smile.

Francis seemed satisfied with the answer, and did not press on. This was one of the many qualities Matthew appreciated wholeheartedly about the Frenchman – he knew when to question further and when to not to.

Arthur would probably put his hands on his hips and press on, or at least give him such a disappointed look it'd make him feel bad enough to begrudgingly say what he didn't feel was the right time to do so anyways.

Sometimes the British man got a little too serious about things, which was why, Matthew concluded, that Alfred would compliment him quite well, something about opposite attraction or some other, if only he wouldn't find Arthur's eyebrows cute and pat them.

He was just going to suggest that it was perhaps a good idea, as Francis had mentioned before, to try to set them up together on a dinner date so Arthur'd stop ignoring the American, when the Frenchman's phone rang.

Francis took it out from his pocket, but Matthew quickly intervened; "You should concentrate on driving, eh? …If you want, I can answer, if you don't mind." He suggested somewhat tentatively, not wanting to sound pushy.

The older male nodded, smiling appreciatively, and handed the still ringing device to the younger blonde.

"_Bonjour~_" Matthew answered, trying to imitate how the older male answered his phone.

There was a long pause on the other end.

"…Hello?" The Canadian blinked.

"…Matthew, aru! Why did you answer the phone like that?" Yao's voice was at the other end; he sounded a little flustered.

"I thought my imitation was pretty good, eh?" The strawberry poked his tongue out at Francis as the older man tried to hide his chuckles.

"I thought…I thought I called somewhere indecent, aru!"

Matthew's frown of bewilderment was the last thing the Frenchman needed before he burst out laughing.

"…Is-Is that Francis laughing in the background, aru? Tell him to stop, aru! It was his fault that—"

The Canadian turned to the one being mentioned, confused; "What's Yao talking about, eh?"

Francis, trying his best to stop laughing long enough to get out an explanation, replied; "We went to Paris once at the request of a wealthy businessman. One late night, after a long day, we decided to have Chinese food ordered in by Yao's suggestion. When he called, he dialed the wrong number, and somehow got a busty woman sent to his room instead!" His words cut off into laughter.

"It's not funny, aru!" Yao, sounding completely embarrassed, was heard yelling from the phone.

"_Oui, il est! C'est hilarant!_" Francis called back, mirth dancing in his sparkling eyes.

Matthew, still confused, rubbed his nose. "But…what does that have anything to do with—"

"-You sounded just like the man who answered when I called that place, aru!" The Chinese man's voice was a whole note higher than usual as he shouted from the other end; "It was all your fault, Francis! You knew what was going on by the middle of the call but did nothing to stop me!"

Ignoring Yao's heated complaints and blame, Francis turned to Matthew and tapped him on the tip of his nose with a finger, "And ever since that incident, Yao has been convinced that _that_ is how_ all_ French brothels answer their calls, _oui_?"

Jumping a little at the sudden tap, Matthew grumbled, "…I'm not sure how I feel about my French sounding like that…"

"It is a compliment, _mon amour_!" Francis sent the Canadian a suggestive wink, "It means your _français_ is _very_ stimulating." A sensuous look of carnal desires was sent Matthew's way from the long-haired Frenchman, and the younger man could no nothing else but stare and blush hotly.

"…Erm…right…" Matthew cleared his throat, blinking away his embarrassment; "So…Yao, what did you call for?"

There was a string of muttered words in what the Canadian guessed to be Chinese before Yao answered:

"Aru…I just wanted to ask, have you seen or heard from Ivan recently?"

"Ivan?" The Canadian hummed, "No…I haven't seen him since a few nights ago at the office…Francis, have you seen him lately?"

Francis shook his head; "_Non…pourquoi?_" He stole a curious glance towards Matthew before turning his attention back onto the road.

"Francis hasn't either," the Canadian replied to Yao, "Why do you ask?"

"Well…he didn't come to the office to feed his fish today, aru, and Alfred almost killed them by dumping too much food in, aru…"

"Oh no! Are they okay?" Matthew's eyebrows furrowed together in worry.

"They are okay, aru…but I couldn't find Ivan; he didn't answer his phone when I called him."

"Oh……I'm—I'm afraid we don't know anything…maybe he's working, eh?" He suggested, feeling a little bad that he hadn't talked to the Russian since that last time; they were good friends after all.

"Maybe; I will check, aru. Thank you."

"Not a problem! Let us know how things are and if you need help with anything, eh?"

With that, they said goodbye, and the call ended.

Stifling another yawn, Matthew handed the phone back to Francis.

"We are almost at your apartment, though I'm unwilling to let you go." The Frenchman said, voice in a soft, pensive murmur.

The Canadian stared before biting back small laughter; "Arthur's kind of right you know; that _was_ a little corny, eh?" He nudged the driver teasingly.

Francis gave him a few glances, at first looking strangely surprised, and then discontented:

"I don't understand why there _is_ such a word, or why it is so often used to describe me in the English language. I speak of my emotions in a sincere manner, and the best word to describe my efforts at making sure the one I love knows how I feel is 'corny'?"

Silence filled the car.

Matthew was speechless; he didn't mean…

"…I didn't mean it like that, Francis, you know that…right?" He finally said slowly, eyes not leaving the Frenchman's face for a second, still not knowing why his poking fun was met with such a reaction.

Francis sighed, brushing a hand through his shiny locks of blond waves, and gave a small nod.

"_Oui... Je sais._" His voice was low and almost defeated sounding; "I don't care what Arthur says about what I do, but I don't want to hear the same from you."

The car turned a corner, and parked on the side of the road.

Matthew recognized that they had arrived at his apartment.

Turning towards the Canadian, Francis' ocean-blue eyes held an unreadable gaze. It wasn't quite troubled or angry, in fact, far from them. The unhappy countenance was gone, and was replaced by something fleetingly tender, and earnest.

"_Je suis désolé très. Je ne devrais pas—Alors…_" The Frenchman gave a small, awkward cough, looking uncharacteristically sheepish before switching to English, "…I shouldn't have been angry over something silly, _mon plus chéri_. But Matthieu—…_je t'aime_; that is why your opinions matter to me. Do you really think—"

It was then Matthew suddenly realized just how much his little jibe had hurt the Frenchman, since, now that he thought about it, it was rather cruel, especially to someone like Francis.

_Oh God…I laughed at him about his "__**l'amour**__"…What were you thinking Matthew? _He wanted to slap himself.

"-No! No, Francis! Of course not! I love-I love how you—I love everything you do, eh!" The strawberry blonde exclaimed, cheeks flushing awfully red in an instance; "N-Nothing you do is corny I—…I've been listening to Arthur talk far too much…" He trailed off, and lowered his head, looking thoroughly ashamed and sad.

Francis blinked slowly, and nodded, deciding not to bring up something that had always bothered him:

His little Matthieu never said what he'd longed to hear ever since the start of their relationship.

…_Je t'aime_; I love you…

He shook that thought away, and gave a warm smile to the flustered Canadian, who looked quite adorable biting on his bottom lip and gazing up at him with timid, wide eyes.

Leaning over, he gave the smaller man a slow, deep kiss, and relished in the little mewl of pleasure that left his little Matthieu's mouth. Tilting his head and nuzzling his cheek against his little angel's, he whispered in a sensual, amorous manner, "…May I ask for a small request?"

"…Y-Yeah…?" Matthew shifted in his seat, cheeks now flushing for a completely different reason as the husky tone made him warm in many places.

"…Help your cousin overcome some of his _horrifying_ views regarding _l'amour_,_ s'il te plaît?_" Francis suddenly moved away, and wore an annoyed pout on his face; "He seems to believe his way to relationships should be applied to everyone, which would cause _un désastre catastrophique_ if his situation with Alfred is any indication, _non_?" With a flare of his wrists, he gave a shrug, humming an exasperated sigh at the thought of the British man.

"…Eh?" Matthew had expected something completely different judging from how the Frenchman behaved just before the sudden change of demeanor.

"…You will do that for me, _oui, mon petit chaton adorable_?" The lazy, flirtatious, if not amused quirk of a smile was back on Francis' handsome face; it was as if that little episode of seriousness had never happened.

"…Er-Erm…Sure! I'll do that…" Not knowing what else he _could_ say, the Canadian scratched the back of his head, and gave a smile of his own.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Matthew was in the middle of work when he got the phone call from Francis. Quickly hiding behind bookshelves, as he wasn't supposed to answer, he flipped open the phone and wrapped a hand around his lips to muffle his speaking.

"Hello?" He spoke quietly.

"_Bonjour, Matthieu_," Francis greeted, "Are you on your break?"

"No, so please hurry," the Canadian whispered, looking around to check if his boss was nearby.

The Frenchman made a sound of acknowledgement and went straight to the point, without the usual inquiries to how he was or flower, creative words of love; "I just received words from Yao that something happened to Ivan. Is it possible for you to get off work early today?"

"…Ivan? What happened to him?"

"_Je ne suis pas très sûr…_" Francis sounded a little distracted, hence his slip of French, and the Canadian wondered if he was driving at the same time, "Yao didn't tell me much, but it sounded worrying."

"I-I don't know what to do; I can't really just get up and leave…" Matthew, by that point, was becoming quite worried, as whatever Yao believed was important or serious enough to alert them at such short notice had to be an emergency, or, at the very least, urgent. "Francis, where are you?"

"On my way to pick you up." So he _was_ driving.

"Okay…I'll-I'll figure something out, you just come." After a brief goodbye, Matthew hung up, and sighed, brushing his hands through his hair.

"…Okay Matthew…you can do this…" He came out from behind the bookshelf after pocketing his phone, and spotted his boss, Roderich, talking to his wife Elizabeta in soft voices.

Pinching himself _really_ hard on the arm and biting back a whimper of pain, Matthew felt his vision blur, and decided that he was ready to approach the somewhat intimidating man.

Shuffling on his feet and keeping his head a little lowered, he walked towards the couple.

Elizabeta was the first to notice him, and, seeing his expression, immediately gasped and went to his side.

"Oh, Matthew! What happened?" She said, expression compassionate and worried, rubbing his back soothingly.

Biting back a sob, he glanced up at the kind lady a few times in a sad manner, and said in a small voice: "…M-My aunt's in the hospital a-and they said her life's in-in danger…" Biting his trembling lips, he hid his face in his hands and started sniffling, secretly feeling horrible for lying about something like that.

"Ooohhh, you poor dear!" Matthew was smothered by a tight hug, which caused a huge blush to stain his cheeks as his face was pressed against the young woman's chest.

"…A_hem_…" A voice cut in; Roderich didn't look too pleased, "May I ask _how_ you were informed, Matthew?"

Struggling and pulling his head out from the embrace, he put on the best ashamed face he could muster and stuttered; "I-I'm s-sorry, Roderich…I—I've been worried about-about auntie Mary s-so I answered my phone…b-but I—I'm really sorry!" More tears fell from his wide, sad eyes, and, through blurry vision, he could see Roderich's solemn façade cracking a little.

"Oh, Roderich, you can't blame the poor boy! His poor auntie Mary's in the hospital!" Elizabeta was immediately on Matthew's side, and the Canadian secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

If the long-haired Hungarian was on his side, there was no way Roderich would say "no".

"…S-So I was just—just wondering, eh…if-if I could…m-maybe…if—if it's not t-too much trouble…if I could…go to the hospital and-and see her…it…it might be the last change I'd get to talk to her—" Whimpering and more tears spilling like a waterfall out of his eyes, he hid his face behind his palms once again.

"Oooohhh poor Matthew!" Elizabeta hugged him once more, and patted his head. Turning to her husband and fixing him with a determined look from her shining, emerald eyes, she spoke in a firm voice, "You can't keep the poor boy here while his aunt's dying in the hospital. I won't let you!" She stuck out her bottom lip stubbornly, and Matthew could vaguely hear Roderich give a deep sigh and shuffle on his feet.

"I-I wasn't going to keep him…" He muttered, explaining himself and running a hand through his short, brown hair, looking a little sheepish.

"Good!" Elizabeta gave a curt nod, turning her attention back to the sniffling blonde, she cooed gently, "You heard him, Matthew, you're free to go for today, and can take as many days off as you need, k~? Now…keep your chin up; you have to be strong for auntie Mary, yeah?" She cupped Matthew's cheeks and brushed away a few drops of tears, giving an encouraging smile.

"…Th-Thank you so-so much, Elizabeta…" Matthew returned the smile, and gave a similar one to his boss, who was standing a few steps away from where they were, "…Thank you too, Roderich."

The brunette coughed awkwardly, and gave a quick nod; "Please…send my best regards to your family, Matthew." He said, and, after a few moments of what looked like debating over something inside his head, walked forward, and stiffly opened his arms, cheeks starting to shine red, eyes staring intently forward at nothing in particular – anywhere but Matthew's eyes really.

…_What's he—_

Matthew's eyes grew round; so did Elizaebta's.

…_Is Roderich actually trying to—_

"-Matthieu!" Francis chose that moment to arrive at the book café, and Roderich, stumbling, immediately took his arms back and crossed them behind him, clearing his throat, embarrassed.

Giving a polite nod at the brown-haired man he was told to be Austrian by his little Matthieu, Francis walked towards the Canadian, and, as he took a closer look, immediately stopped and stared in confusion and surprise.

"…_Mon chéri_! Why are you—"

"-Oh Francis!" Matthew instantly threw himself into the Frenchman's arms, causing the taller man to startle a little; "W-We must hurry or auntie Mary's going pass away!" He exclaimed, nudging the other blonde as he nuzzled against his chest.

"-Err-Errm…_Oui…Oui…_" Bowing a little to the worried couple, he quickly said: "_Excusez-nous, s'il vous plaît._"

After a quick scurry of collecting his things, Matthew led his lover out of the café.

Mildly aware of Elizabeta waving after them and wishing the best with Roderich standing stiffly straight beside her and looking solemn, they quickly jumped into Francis' car and drove away.

After a long while of silence, Francis, stopping at a red light, turned to Matthew with a quirked up eyebrow.

"…Auntie Mary?"

"…Shut up…" Matthew blushed, still wiping away his tears; "It was the only thing I could think of, eh…" He bit his lips. "…I'm kind of feeling bad about it now…" Face tilting down, guilt began to stab at his heart as he thought of how he played with the kind couple's feelings.

Francis reached over a hand and patted his head, "It wasn't your intentions; you can work hard for them afterwards to make up for it, _oui_?"

Nodding, the strawberry blonde gave a small smile as the Frenchman leaned over and gave him a kiss.

"So…where are we going, eh? What happened to Ivan?"

"Right now we are going to meet with everyone at the agency. As for what happened to Ivan, no one knows; that's the problem." Francis answered, "He hasn't been to the office for an entirety of two days, which is strange since he needs to feed his fish, and Yao made plans with him to buy some decorative corals for the fish tank, but he failed to show up." The Frenchman sighed; "It's not like him at all to even be late for a date with Yao let along…" He paused, expression darkening slightly, "He isn't picking up his phone or answering his messages, and hasn't been to work at the liquor store.…"

"…I-I know this might be a little obvious, eh…but…has anyone checked his home?"

"_Oui…_That was the second place Yao checked after the office; no one answered the door."

There was a sharp gasp; "Wh-What if he's kidnapped?" At first Francis was not sure if that was meant as a bad joke (Really…_Ivan_ kidnapped…), but, stealing a few looks at his little Matthieu and seeing how seriously dismayed his expression was, the older male knew he was genuinely concerned.

"Ivan is a hard man to make disappear, _mon amour_…He doesn't know many people here, and intimidates most too much to make enemies."

"…Yeah…" Matthew sunk deeper into his seat, "…I hope he's okay…" He looked out the window, mind racing with never-ending (though mostly unlikely) possibilities of what could've happened to the tall Russian as the car drove down the road towards Alfred's agency.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

Калинка, калинка, калинка моя~! – Little snowberry, snowberry of mine! (Or something…Man I'm SO in love with this song like you have no idea XD I listen to it all the time LOL)

…Добрый вечер, мой брат… – …Good evening, my brother …

…_Брат?_ – …brother?

_Нет! Вы будете бояться!_ – No! You will be afraid! (Meaning that she thinks she's gonna scare Matthew if he sees her)

_... Кто - Вы ...?_ – …Who are you…? (I donno why there's a dash in the middle; any Russian speakers out there wanna enlighten me please? ;_; )

_Pardonnes-moi, s'il te plaît?_ – Forgive me, please?

_Oui, il est! C'est hilarant!_ –Yes, it is! It's hilarious!

_Non…pourquoi?_ – No…Why?

_Oui... Je sais._ – Yes…I know.

_Je suis désolé très. Je ne devrais pas—Alors…_ –I am very sorry. I should not—Well…

_mon plus chéri_ – my most beloved

_je t'aime_ – I love you

_un désastre catastrophique_ – a catastrophic disaster

_mon petit chaton adorable_ – my little, adorable kitten (I guess my adorable little kitten would sound more fluid, but oh well XD)

_Je ne suis pas très sûr…_ – I'm not very sure…

_Excusez-nous, s'il vous plaît._ – Excuse us, please.

**Ending Notes: **If there's anything wrong with the phrases in Russian and French above, please let me know!

To ones who guessed Belarus and/or Austria and Hungary, congrats! Here, have a cookie! –hands super big cookie–

...Awww man I feel kinda bad; those who guessed Lithuania and/or Sweden and Finland, they were really good guesses too! So I guess—here, you can have a cookie too –gives cookie– :D

And, just in case anyone wonders, Lithuania will probably be making an appearance into the story, but not till a lot later, like in the third case or something, along with someone else. ;) I don't think Sweden and Finland will be appearing in this though…Sorry ;_; There'll be a suddenly combustion of characters making their way into the story in the forth case, with one of them making a(n awesome) cameo in the third. –hint hint– And, simply to keep it from being overwhelming, I thought I shouldn't add too many.

Anywaaaays, what d'ya guys think? I'm having perhaps too much fun writing Ivan cuz he's so adorable (Alfred's agency's gonna become a zoo if Ivan keeps meeting small, stray animals LOL); I wanna pinch his cheeks, but that'd probably result in me becoming a stain in his carpet…BUT THAT MEANS I'D BECOME ONE WITH RUSSIA! …'S CARPET! …XD

Oh Matthew…tsk, tsk, hurting poor Francis' feelings like that with careless little teasing remarks, as unintentional as they were. ;p Sorry that there's no Arthur and Alfred in this chapter; they'll return in the next one.

I had a giggle making Roderich attempt an awkward hug LOL It's okay, Roderich; it's the thought that counts. –pats–

I realized that my ending notes are getting kinda long D: Sorry about that, my darlings. I'll try to keep them short and to the point from now on, though…the above kinda contradicts that XD

Hearing from you guys make my days fantastic, so please drop me a word! –hearts– To anonymous reviewers: Thank you so much for taking the time to review and read my story! I'd love to reply to you guys but I can't, so I'd like to take this chance to give you big hugs and express my gratitude! –big glomps–

Well, adieu for now, my sweets! :D MUAHS--!


	13. CASE2: Natalia, Part 2

**Author's Notes:** This isn't as long as I would've liked; I'll try to post another chapter sooner. :D

For now, please enjoy, my darlings! –hearts–

Ps: Especially for the later part of the chapter, I highly suggest **imagining the scene out** as much as possible, including the _silence_ and _sounds_. ;)

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

Arthur, sipping his tea, glared at the American sitting opposite of him, trying not to worry about how haggard the younger man's appearance was. Alfred stole glances at him, looking slightly nervous and ashamed, and pouted at him.

Arthur snorted; as if _that_ was going to work after God knows how many times…

Alfred stuck out his bottom lip further and looked pleadingly and pathetically into his eyes.

…and he felt his resolve shaking…

…_Damnit!_

"…Stop that!" _Oh crap! Did he just speak?_

Alfred's eyes immediately lit up as he gasped, a big grin spreading across his face.

"Arthur! You just talked to me!" He said, sitting up higher hopefully.

The British man looked almost embarrassed, and looked away, pressing his lips tightly together into a thin line.

"…Awwww, come on, Arthur! I'm sorry, alright?" The American got up and sat down beside him, an action to which he sent a dark half-glare to and tried to scoot away from.

Alfred tugged onto his arm and whined, nuzzling insistently against him; "_Pleeeeeeeeaaaase_, forgive me?" He gave his best puppy-eyes, and silently celebrated in victory as he saw Arthur's bushy eyebrows jerking, expression as if fighting to stay in a frown instead of breaking into an exasperated smile.

The English man gave him a shove, and he held the arm he clutched against his chest harder.

Growling, Arthur gave a harder push, and the American gave a stronger tug—

…which caused the tea the Londoner was holding to spill over onto his pants.

"-GAHH! YOU IDIOT! LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" Was what greeted Matthew and Francis as they walked through the door.

"…Oh no! Alfred's done it _again_!" Matthew groaned, face-palming.

"I—I'm _so sorry_, Arthur! Here lemme…lemme wipe it for you…" Alfred grabbed a napkin and tried to rub at Arthur's lap, where the spilt tea was, but was smacked away by a fuming, tomato-faced Brit.

"Get away from me, bloody pervert!" Arthur stood up and stomped away to the fish tank, crossing his arms in front of him as he tried in vain to fight off the blush still dominating his cheeks.

The fish gathered at the glass, watching him curiously.

To his great annoyance, they all seemed to navigate towards where approximately his eyebrows were reflected.

"_Everyone_ is a pervert according to Arthur's judgment," Francis' smooth, slightly jibing voice could be heard, "Alfred was simply trying to make up for his accident, _non~_?"

"Take _this_ and stick it up your arse, _Bonnefoy_!" Arthur gave the Frenchman the finger.

"Why are you always so insistently interested in sticking things up there, Kirkland? Could it be…you are secretly _deeply infatuated_ with _moi_…?" Francis cooed teasingly, striking a suggestive pose against the wall.

Arthur spluttered indignantly; Matthew blushed, trying not to stare, and Alfred bristled, shooting up onto his feet.

"Is-Is this true! Is that why you won't talk to me?" He pointed an accusing finger at the British man by the fish tank.

"-Franciiiiis! Look what you've done!" Matthew whined in a manner frighteningly similar to a certain American's.

Francis lifted an eyebrow; "…Alfred, you can't possibly—"

"Yes! Yes, that's right! I'm in love with the French bastard!"

There was a shocked silence as three pairs of eyes rounded into saucers, staring at Arthur, who wore a challenging, smug look with hands at his hips.

The door to the agency suddenly swung open as Yao rushed in, exclaiming: "Ivan finally answered his phone! He's at home, aru! Let's go find him—" He paused.

Looking back and forth between the four blondes, he frowned; "…What's going on, aru?"

Francis was the first to recover, shifting into a more normal stance and blinking; "…I am very flattered, Arthur, but I'm afraid I am no longer available—"

"Don't be ridiculous, you frivolous git," Crossing the room in large strides, the English man yanked Francis closer by the arm and wrapped his own around it, pursing his lips, eyes still challenging, "You send me flowers everyday; my room's full of them to prove it!"

"…_A-Alors_…Arthur…those are—"

"—Oh, yeah? W-Well—" Alfred looked around, spotting Matthew, walked forward and hauled the Canadian back against his chest and wrapped his arms firmly around the slim waist. "Mattie and I are _totally_ hitting it off too!"

"-Eh-EHHHH?" Matthew, flustered and stunned, could only stare at the American embracing him from behind.

Arthur made a small noise and took a small step forward as if to pull the taller blonde away from his cousin, out of protectiveness or jealousy he was not sure, but immediately caught himself.

…_The damned imbecile wants to play dirty? Fine!_

Green eyes narrowing, he spat out: "Well, _good_! Then it works out _perfectly_!" Turning to Francis and fixing the man with a mildly disgusted glare, he barked out an order, "Let's go find Braginski!" He pulled on the Frenchman's arm to leave; when the other did not move, he turned back, "What?"

Francis looked uncharacteristically flustered, brushing a hand through his long, golden hair; "…Arthur, you can't possibly be serious, _oui_? …Matthieu—"

"-Oh _don't worry_ about _Matthew_," Alfred called out, "I'll be _gentle_~"

The Canadian was heard making incredulous, spluttering noises that sounded suspicious like "Wha-Alfred-I-You-_S-Stop that!_"

"—Stop groping _mon petit Matthieu_!" Francis looked quite offended, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly agape – _even if this __**was**__ pretense out of anger it was going too far…_

"I can grope _my_ Mattie all I want!" Alfred retorted, blazing eyes all the while daring Arthur to see how far the British man could take it.

Arthur's hands tightened around the Frenchman's arm, and, ignoring the said Frenchman's pained protests, wore an angry expression of jealousy.

"Fine!" He shouted back, "Francis and I are going _outside_ to grope!" Swinging his head around, he yanked the Frenchman with him, walking towards the door in stomping steps.

"_Fine!_" Alfred yelled back.

"FINE!" Stubborn to have the last word, Arthur hollered, and, giving Alfred one last furious glare, disappeared into the hall.

Matthew stood still, eyes unblinking and wide.

_They…They aren't __**really**__ going to grope outside, are they…?_

Alfred sighed from behind him, muttering about a "stupid, stubborn British exhibitionist".

Yao, looking out the door and back into the room, scratched the back of his head, and murmured: "…What just happened, aru…?"

~o0o0o0o0o~

Sitting in the van couldn't have been more awkward.

Francis drove; Arthur sat in the passenger's seat. Every once in a while he would glare back, thick eyebrows in an angry frown, at Alfred, who sat beside Matthew in the backseats.

Every time the British man turned around, Alfred would suddenly wrap his arms around the uncomfortably flustered Canadian beside him and return the glare with a smug grin.

Every time Arthur turned his attention away with a "humph!", however, the grin would drop, and the American would grumble under his breath, releasing Matthew from his death-grip hug.

"…Why do you have to do that, eh?" Matthew muttered, giving Alfred a pouty, annoyed look.

"It's not my fault! He's always pissed off at me and I'm sick n' tired of it!"

"But you know…it kind of _was_ your fault, jumping to conclusions like that…Francis was _kidding_. For _God's sakes_ at least know _when_ to be jealous…you can give Arthur a little more credit too; he'd never cheat on anyone, just so you know." The Canadian crossed his arms in front of his chest, huffing a little like a fluffed-up bird; "And what's even worse, you guys dragged Francis and I into this too!" He raised his voice slightly so that Arthur could hear him as well.

"But-But Mattieeee~~" The American whined, pouting, "I did everything I could but he just won't forgive me!"

"You dumped tea onto my pants, you idiot!" Arthur yelled from the front.

"That was an accident! I didn't mean to!" Alfred replied, tone still whiny; "I swear to God if I could take it back I would…What do you want me to do, man? I'll do it!"

When the British man merely pressed his lips together and didn't utter a word, he continued: "I'll-I'll buy you new pants, alright? Would that make you feel better about it?"

Arthur made a small grunt; its meaning was unclear.

"…What—What does that even _mean_?" Alfred gave a similar grunt in somewhat sarcastic imitation, brushing his hands through his unruly hair in exasperation; "You never tell me anything! I want to make it up to you, but you won't let me!" Pausing, he was hoping to get a reaction from the Brit sitting in the front, though no such luck; "Do you _like_ being miserable and stuck-up?"

Arthur's head jerked to the window to gaze out at the passing scenery, and still said nothing.

"…Look, we're stuck together anyways, so we might as well try to be happy, yeah?" Alfred's expression and voice suddenly turned chiding and mature, which caused a surprised silence to settle inside the van.

"…I-I'm not '_stuck together_' with _you_! Who gave you that idea?" Arthur shot out a curt reply after he shook off the initial shock.

The American immediately opened his mouth, but, to Matthew's amazement, he actually halted in midst of starting to say something (possibly stupid) and closed his lips. Blinking and sighing, he looked down at his hands; "…No one _gave_ me that idea, Arthur…It's what I hope for anyways…" He said after a moment of quiet contemplation, eyes uncharacteristically sad and discouraged.

Matthew felt his heart pull a little at what he was seeing, and turned to look at his cousin. The Londoner had his head inclined towards the back of the car, though it was impossible to see his expressions. He was still, and generally appeared to be speechless.

"…You shouldn't hold such a grudge, Kirkland," Francis murmured, "But right now our concern should be Ivan. I feel as though we've been neglecting him, who should've been the focus since the start of this case."

"…This is a case?" Matthew's eyes rounded a little; he had thought—

"_Oui_," France turned the van around a corner, "On principle we are here at the request of our friend Yao to investigate something curious, _non_?"

"…I thought we're just here to see Ivan, aru…" Yao, speaking also the Canadian's confusion, seemed to be uncomfortable with the notion that they were coming by business, shifting in the middle seats of the van; "Ivan's our friend, aru…"

"Of course," The Frenchman gave an apologetic smile at the dark-haired one by the mirror.

There was a pause before Arthur cleared his throat.

"…Well…since this is a case, I suppose we should put aside our differences, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Jones?" His voice was painfully professional, but the American's eyes seemed to suddenly regain some of its lively sparkle and sat up straighter.

"…Y-Yeah! Definitely!" He grinned, heaving a relieved sigh; "…At least he's not throwing insults at me." He answered Matthew's unspoken question with an embarrassed laugh as he met the Canadian's eyes.

…_Of course!_ Matthew took in a small gasp of realization; _this must be why Francis said it like that!_

It gave Arthur a reason to step down from his ridiculous stubbornness and a chance for Alfred to redeem himself, as well as pointing them back on track to what they were supposed to be doing, which was _not_ bickering or trying to keep peace between two quarrelling lovers.

Matthew frowned; _are they even officially together yet…?_

It was hard to tell. Alfred and Arthur went out together on numerous occasions, during which they argued much more than anything else, so it might as well be called a scheduled, pointless debate. The American stayed over sometimes when their "dates" went too late into the night and he'd sent Arthur home, though Matthew wasn't sure if they did anything, as he was already fast asleep by that time. But that was unlikely, since every morning-after the Canadian would find Alfred curled up on the sofa (which was a little too short for the tall man) in the living room, snoring lightly and mumbling incoherent sleep talk.

Sighing, he decided that then was not the right time to worry about the two.

~o0o0o0o0o~

The team sans Ivan stood in front of the entrance to the Russian's home. It looked quite unwelcoming with its metal barred door meant to keep burglars out covering the one that actually came with the apartment. Matthew wondered what Ivan had that was so precious as to need something so heavy-duty.

…_Maybe his vodka…_he thought.

Giving swift knocks, Arthur winced as the metal clanked loudly, echoing in the eerily silent hall stretching far behind them, empty.

There was no reaction at all, and, though not wanting to hear the unpleasant clanking sounds again, the British man knocked once more, this time slightly more forceful.

Standing at the back of the group, Matthew turned around to look back at the long, hollow-feeling hallway with walls painted stark white. The apartment was quite large and new; it was as if the maintenance management had started an idea of an interior design for the hall but suddenly forgot about it. There were paint rollers and buckets lined up against the wall at uneven intervals, as well as pieces of wood that might've been, at one point, meant for furnishing the edges where the walls met floor and ceiling.

_Where are all the other tenants…?_ Matthew wondered, feeling rather uneasy, eyes wide and alert.

Alfred stood next to him, hands shoved inside his jacket pockets; the Canadian was surprised he had not gone up to do the knocking, since he was the self-appointed "hero" of the team.

"Are you sure he is home?" Francis turned to Yao with a confused tilt of head.

"On the phone he said he is aru…I told him we were coming, so I don't think he'd leave…" Tucking fallen strands of long, dark hair behind his ears, he politely placed a hand on Arthur's arm. "Let me try, please."

Stepping aside and giving the Chinese man room, Arthur shot a look back towards Alfred meant to only last a second as to not rouse the American's attention to notice that he was looking. However, his intentions were forgotten as surprise appeared over his expressions.

The taller blonde was frowning, actually _frowning_, and was staring at the door so intently it was as if he was trying to melt the metal with his eyes. His stance was neither offensive nor defensive, hanging on the brink as if to fall to one direction immediately upon what the situation needed.

"…Ivan?" Yao knocked, peering past wired screens between iron bars, watching for the slightest movement of the knob on the actual, wooden door. "Ivan? Open up." He called, voice gentle but distinct and clear.

After a while of knocking and seeing no reaction, growing impatient, Alfred took out his phone.

Everyone else watched as he pressed buttons and held the electronic device up to his ear.

It was deathly silent while they waited.

Suddenly a loud ringing sounded behind the door, and all of them jumped.

They could all hear Ivan's phone from the other side, and waited, anxiety nagging, for it to be picked up.

All of a sudden it ended, and Alfred cursed under his breath.

"_Привет~ ...I am Ivan; I am busy, but I love messages. Leave one for me, da~? Спасибо!"_

There were vague sounds of the Russian cooing at what one could only guess was his fish before the recording was cut off, and a beep followed.

Alfred sighed, ending the call, and nodded at Yao. "Knock again. He's definitely home."

As the knocking resumed, Matthew turned to the American, "How do you know he's home, eh?"

"Ivan always has his phone. It's a habit from when he was in Russia; he needs to be easily reached since…his sister's sick." Alfred answered, eyes never leaving the door.

Just as his voice faded off and Yao lifted his hand to knock again, there was an abrupt thud from the other side of the door.

Arthur gasped as it startled him from his thoughts, but he was not the only one surprised. They looked back and forth at each other, wondering if they had all imagined it.

Yao knocked again.

Matthew couldn't suppress a shudder, feeling creeped out. The sun was setting, and the hall was getting dark. Stretched shapes of dark shadows bled across the walls and the floor; the ceiling lights have yet lighted up.

The Canadian wished Francis had been beside him, and not dragged to the front by his cousin.

As his watery blue eyes lingered on the Frenchman's form, an arm wrapped around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze.

"Don't worry about it, 'kay? You have the hero beside you!" Alfred gave him a bright, encouraging grin, winking an eye.

Matthew nibbled his bottom lip, and nodded, returning the grin with a small smile, mildly comforted but still nervous. He fleetingly thought how wonderful it'd be to have an older brother like Alfred.

Francis made a movement almost tiny enough to be unseen, but the Canadian caught onto it. It seemed that the Frenchman wished he had been beside him as well.

Another thud turned Francis' attention back to the door. Slowly tugging off one of his gloves, his eyebrows furrowing, he murmured: "…Maybe I should—"

"…Кто - там?"

All stilled.

It was dead silent; too silent.

"…_Natalia…?_" Ivan's voice floated through the door; Matthew felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

"…Ivan?" Yao called out, giving the metal door another knocking, "Ivan? It's Yao, aru. Can you open the door? Your friends are here to see you, aru."

"…Yao…came to see me…?" It sounded as though the Russian was pressed against the door on the other side for his voice grew slightly in volume, though it was still muffled.

"Can we-Can we come in, aru?" Yao asked, tone warm and gentle.

"…I…I can't…Yao…I-I'm scared, da…? If I open the door—"

_-CLUNK!_

An abrupt, deafening sound exploded through the silence, and Matthew shouted out in fright, feeling the one beside him tensing into a jolt. Arthur cried out a swearword, jumping back almost an entire step while Francis winced.

Yao remained unmoving; his eyes shone brightly with a hard glint.

"…Ivan, what are you doing?" His voice had an alarmed note to it.

A second clunk followed the first; it sounded vaguely familiar, but Matthew couldn't quite place where he'd heard it before.

"-Ivan! Stop it!" Yao lunged forward, hands slapping against the metal door, voice a full shout. "Ivan! _Ivan!_" The metal door shook and rattled into a symphony of clashing sounds.

"What's going on?" Alfred questioned, demanding an answer, and the Chinese man, halting in his rather desperate knocking, hissed something under his breath before tilting his head towards the rest of the group.

"…He's bolting himself in, aru…"

It was then a flash of recognition crossed Matthew's mind, and he took in a sharp breath.

"-It's a hammer!" Pointing an urgent, shaky finger at the door, he cried out: "He's-He's driving nails into the door!"

"-What the hell?" Confusion splattered across Alfred's features.

More clunking, increasing in frequency, rang through the hall way, reverberating between its white walls as if in a dizzying, endless loop.

"S-Stop him!" Matthew, desperately wishing he could do something, _anything_ aside from watching helplessly.

"Damnit!" Alfred clenched his teeth; his eyes narrowed; "We're gonna have to break in!"

"Have you gone _nutters_?" Arthur yelled back, eyes round with incredulousness; "It's a _metal door_ meant to _stop_ idiots like you from _breaking in!_"

"Well you got any better ideas?"

"I-…No—"

"Then get out of my way!" Matthew was shoved aside to make room.

"-Alfred!" Arthur was ready to step in front of the door to stop the American's reckless, dangerous plan of action, but someone unexpected beat him to it.

"-_Ivan! Откройте дверь, пожалуйста!_" Francis pressed a gloved hand to the metal frame, and called out, Russian awkwardly skidding off his tongue as he seemed to grimace at how badly he spoke it.

The clunking immediately stopped as if by magic.

Arthur swung a disbelieving look to the Frenchman; "What on earth did you—"

"I took a class in university." Was tossed at him before the long-haired blonde knocked on the door; "…Ivan?"

There was no reply, but the Russian was listening, or so it seemed.

After a long while of silence and muttering under his breath, Francis stumbled through another sentence. "_…Мы - друзья…да?_"

A loud clunk of something heavy and hard falling to the floor could be heard from the other side of the door. Matthew guessed it must've been the hammer.

"…Мои друзья......?" There was a small, almost confused and shy murmur, and Francis sighed, relief distinct in the deep breath of air. Eyes closing, his head hung forward.

"_Oui, mon cher ... nous sommes tes amis..._"

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

_Привет~_ ……_Спасибо!_ – Greetings/Hello~ … … Thanks!

…Кто - там? – …Who's there? (Can a Russian-speaking darling tell me why there's a dash in the middle please? ;_; I really donno if it's supposed to be there or…)

_Откройте дверь, пожалуйста!_ – Open the door, please!

…_Мы - друзья…да?_ – …We are friends…yes?

…Мои друзья......? – …My friends……?

_Oui, mon cher ... nous sommes tes amis..._ –Yes, my dear…we are your friends…

**Ending Notes:** I donno if you guys can tell, but I had so much laughs (maybe a little too much) while writing the first segment; Francis' sexiness always ends up starting a mess, eh? In more ways than one, though I think personally he'd much more prefer the steamy-hot-sex mess rather than being-tugged-away-from-his-little-Matthieu-by-angry-British-man mess. ;) I thought it was funny that _he_ of all people would tell someone else to not grope LOL (Tsk, tsk Alfred, watch where your hands are going~)

Sorry if I made Arthur a little high-maintenance-ish in this chapter, but I mean, come on, he's the _sole heir_ of a rich-ass family line of witches and wizards probably tracing all the way back to the Middle Ages, give the guy a break, will ya? I like to think that he's at least a _little_ spoiled, not in the conventional sense I guess, but with little (ok fine sometimes kinda big) quirks here and there. :D

I seriously want to hear Francis speaking French-accented Russian, not that I'd be able to pick out the accent, but it'd be fun. :DDDD

I'm really sorry Ivan didn't actually make an appearance in this chapter and no explanations were given as to why he was bolting himself in; I'm gonna try my best to have another chapter up soon, or make the next one extra long.

I was listening to super creepy music as I was writing this, and I think that's partly why this chapter ended up being shorter than usual cuz THAT MUSIC IS EFF-ING CREEPY MAN! XD I had Goosebumps all over from listening to it… –shudders–

In case you're wondering what song I was listening to, I was looking for "scary/spooky music" on youtube and stumbled across this: **http: //www. youtube. com/ watch?v=7htt1kCQrXw**

No space of course.

If you end up having nightmares from listening to it it's not my fault, k? XD

I love you guys ;_; –hugs tightly–

Many hearts from yours truly~

fF

…Oh oh oh! Fun question of the day! :DDDD

_Why do you think Ivan's fish all crowded around Arthur's eyebrows when he was standing in front of the tank?_

I'd love to hear what you guys come up with!

;)

…OMG OK I HAVE TO TELL YOU GUYS SOMETHING ELSE!

I saw this little bird while I was out this other day…omfg I swear it was the roundest, fluffiest bird I HAVE EVER SEEN!

IT WAS THE CUTEST LITTLE FLUFF-BALL EVER AAARRRGGHHHH!

It was all looking at me and blinking and chirping. Holy mother of tomatoes I thought I was gonna die from cuteness overload…

…I wanted to pat it…but needless to say I failed…

…So much for trying to keep my ending notes short, eh…XD


	14. CASE2: Natalia, Part 3

**Author's Notes:** Sorry I couldn't update sooner. ;_; This week's been crazy, but the good thing is that finally, FINALLY, things are settling down (thank God). I had to take a nice long nap to catch up on my sleep.

Now that I'm feeling revived and energized, here's a new chapter for you! :D

_Warning: Contains many repetitive mentions of being the hero on Alfred's part_. But then again, I mean, c'mon, he hasn't been able to be "the hero" for weeks since the _Hedgewood_ case, so just let him have his moments, yeah? ;)

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

It took a good hour for Ivan to get all the nails he'd driven into the door out from keeping it completely bolted.

Feeling his stomach grumble sadly, Matthew looked up, wondering if the Russian had any food, and cast an eye to Alfred, who stood a little further from him, hands back in his pockets.

It was surprising that the American had yet complained about hunger, or suggested going to the nearest diner for burgers.

The home they'd walked into, after the doors (both wooden and metal ones) were opened by a somewhat ashen-faced Ivan, was roomy with plain walls (mostly in a single shade of creamy yellow), but had a welcoming atmosphere and sturdy furniture. There were framed drawings (some Matthew suspected Ivan had drawn himself) brilliantly coloured with pencil crayons of sunflower fields hung up, and drapes covering the windows.

A shelf full of books and a few Matryoshka dolls lined one side of the living room, while its adjacent side had a sliding door, also covered by drapes, leading to the balcony.

Simple, but well-cushioned sofas were placed in a semi square across from the shelf, and, thinking the floor lamp was a little inefficient in lighting up the room, Matthew clicked on the small table lamp sitting on what looked to be a tall stool-like coffee table beside him.

Francis sat by his side; Arthur took a seat on the other side of the Frenchman, though he kept his distance. Yao sat on one of the single sofa seats, while the other remained empty.

Ivan reappeared from the kitchen with a tray of tall glasses of what looked like orange juice. Carefully balancing the full glasses, he set the tray down onto the small table in the middle of the room, and mumbled, looking a little embarrassed: "Sorry…this is all I have other than vodka, da…"

"_Hmmmm_ I _love_ orange juice!" Matthew exclaimed, giving the Russian a huge smile of appreciation, and reached for a glass eagerly; "Thank you, Ivan!" He took a big gulp, and felt such pride when Ivan's troubled expression transformed into a small smile.

Truthfully, yes, he liked orange juice, but not as much as he probably exaggerated to be; it was nice to have it though, even more so since he was a little hungry – anything that could fill his stomach was wonderful.

Yao was the next to reach for one of the glasses, and everyone else followed suit.

Alfred finished his entire glass before anyone else's was even half gone. Seeing Ivan looking at him with a slightly surprised expression at how fast he finished drinking, he waved a hand at the still empty sofa: "Sit down, Ivan. I like to stand."

Arthur lifted an eyebrow at the American as the Russian sat down; "I never knew you liked orange juice that much, Alfred."

Alfred hid a silent punch in the air of victory that the British man could not see from his angle; he wasn't "Mr. Jones" anymore, and that was a huge step of gaining footing on Arthur's good side.

"I was just very thirsty," He said, beaming a bright grin at the green eyes narrowing suspiciously at him; "Serious! Why are you looking at me like that?" He laughed, rubbing the back of his head, before his eyes suddenly widened: "…Wait…there's no vodka mixed in it, is there?"

"_Everything_ tastes good with vodka, da~?" Ivan suddenly perked up, a little of his old self returning with a slight twinkle in his violet eyes, "There was no way I could've had enough juice for _everyone_."

Matthew's arm, raising the glass to his lips, froze.

There was silence only broken by a quiet buzzing sound from the lamps.

"…I…don't taste any vodka…" Francis took a delicate sniff from his glass, confused.

"I was kidding! …You trust me so little, da~~!" Ivan looked offended, cheeks puffing up, "I would never sneak alcohol into my friends' glasses…I would never waste _my_ precious vodka to someone who won't appreciate them." At that, he sent a meaningful glance at Alfred, who pouted and propped his hands up at his hips.

"Hey! I happen to appreciate everything! A hero loves all and is never picky!" He stood up straighter and stuck out his chest defiantly.

The Russian gave a disbelieving hum, and took out a miniature bottle from seemingly under his sofa. Unscrewing the cap, he took a small swig, and immediately seemed to melt into the soft, cushioned seat. His eyes fell close, pale eyelashes fluttering like fragile wings of a butterfly.

"…Thank you for coming to visit, everyone," He said after a brief moment of comfortable silence, "I never had this many people at my place before…it gets lonely sometimes, when I come home, only to find dark rooms. That's why I have my sunflowers, da~ …They make me happy." A genuine, serene smile blossomed on the tall man's face, and Matthew wondered if he was imagining himself in a large field of sunflowers similar to what he drew in his framed artworks.

Arthur opened his mouth to ask a question, but Alfred raised a hand, lightly shaking his head.

_Wait._ He mouthed and gave the British man a thumb-up.

The green-eyed one sighed, crossing his arms, but complied.

"…It was never dark in Russia…_Нет_…My older sister, Yekaterina, would always be making dinner when I returned home from work, and Natalia usually helped, unless she had a lot of homework from school." A longing, sorrowful expression swept across Ivan's features; "…It always smelt so delicious, no matter what they made together…because it smelt like home…" The Russian's pale eyebrows furrowed in grief; "…because it smelt like home…da…" His voice faded into a wistful murmur, and he took another swig from his small bottle of vodka.

Swallowing and relishing in the way the drink burnt down his throat and warmed his insides, he opened his eyes, and continued in a calmer voice. "My sisters are very smart and beautiful. Yekaterina wants to marry a good man who will love her and care for her, and Natalia wants go to university like how she always dreamed. She has a lot of ambition, da~ my little sister…" A fond look appeared over his violet eyes, and the Russian's familiar, childish smile returned, hopeful and innocent. "Natalia is very, _very_ smart, da~! She learnt math and language arts faster than both me and Yekaterina! She draws pictures very prettily too; she taught me how to draw sunflowers…" Ivan looked down, hands fiddling with the small glass bottle.

"…She taught me and Yekaterina many other things too; most of them she learnt in school. She believed it was very important to know many things, and sometimes, I think, she feels bad that only she went to school…I think she also believed that what happened to—what happened to mother and father…if we knew many things then, they would probably still be alright." Ivan shook his head gently; "Natalia always thought too much, but that is why she is smart, da~? …The truth is though, Yekaterina and I don't mind. We like working; it makes us feel important!" The Russian laughed, though the humour in his tone suddenly disappeared as another memory surfaced.

"…Natalia learnt many things…she wanted to know too many things," Violet eyes glazed over, staring unseeingly at the floor lamp; they were as if transparent orbs, reflecting the light of the lamp like clear crystals. "…too many things…and too curious…"

There were many loopholes in what the Russian said – at least to Matthew and Arthur, who hadn't known the tall man for long. Francis, Alfred, and Yao, however, followed along without much trouble or questions, and merely listened intently, compassion and understanding in their eyes.

Silence settled in the room as everyone waited for Ivan to continue, but he only stared, as if unwilling, or afraid even, to relive through memories he wished he'd forgotten.

When the stillness grew suffocating, Yao took the initiative.

"…Ivan…What really happened to Natalia, aru?" His voice was soft in guiding the pale blonde sitting across from him along in his story-telling; "You never…You never really told us exactly how—"

"-Wait a sec," Alfred perked up as if he'd just realized something, "What does this have anything to do with why you were barring yourself in?" As soon as the question left his lips, he was bombarded with protesting stares telling him to shut up.

"I am certain Ivan is _getting there_, _Einstein_." Arthur's voice was biting, and the American shuffled on his feet, realizing himself how silly his question was, and mouthed an apology with a sheepish smile.

Luckily, Ivan did not seem to even notice the little interruptive episode.

"…Natalia…wanted revenge…"

All attention focused on the Russian once more.

"…What happened to our parents was…_strange_…so we knew it was intentional, and Natalia could not forgive, and believed she must punish those who hurt our family. She started to—…She started to learn many things about…dangerous things…dangerous, _horrible_ things." Large hands clenched around the small vodka bottle, and they trembled. "Yekaterina and I didn't know anything about what she was doing until—until that one day…I came home, just like everyday, wondering what my sisters made for dinner, a-and…and…I—I saw—" Ivan's voice suddenly hitched; his body started shaking horribly as a terrible expression of horror swept over his face so alarmingly fast all in the room visibly sat back out of shock.

Eyebrows furrowing in anguish; violet eyes abruptly squeezed shut. Tears washed down pale cheeks.

"…my baby sister—my baby sister—" The vodka bottle fell to the floor, and large hands shot up, covering over crying eyes; "-my baby sister was lying—lying on the floor…her arms…her arms were-were…her legs—they-they twisted! _They twisted!_" Yao, horrified as the rest of the team, shot up in his seat to rush to Ivan's side, but was pulled back by Alfred, who, face pale, knew they should listen till the end so the grief-stricken man would not have to speak through such terrifying revelations once more.

"It made me so sick and scared, so I fell…I-I wanted to go to her but…but I could not! I could not!" The Russian curled into himself, voice weeping and drenched with fear. "When I finally…When I finally looked, her eyes suddenly opened…her tears…were red…They were red! _Like blood!_ —a-and she said to me—she said—"

A horrible silence cut through the room; Ivan whispered:

"'…_Я люблю Вас, брата…'_…"

Francis froze. No one else really knew what that meant, but he did.

If there was _one thing_ that he remembered from briefly studying the Russian language, it was this phrase.

A confession of love…

…_I love you…_she said.

…_I love you, brother_…

"…Yekaterina was not home; I didn't know at that time what happened to her. But after some time, she returned with doctors, and they took Natalia away…" Ivan rubbed at his eyes, head still downcast and in shadow. "…Yekaterina held me, and we cried."

The Russian sighed, retrieving his bottle of vodka from the floor.

"…Natalia's bones were not broken; no one knew how, because they were so distorted. But…" The small bottle was emptied as Ivan swung his head back and drank. Swallowing the large gulp forcefully, he wiped at his face. "…Natalia became ill. It wasn't too bad at first; she looked like she was better, but…there were times when…Yekaterina and I didn't know who it was that was staring back at us when we talked to her. Those times, after a while, became all the time…"

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, the Russian looked rather sulky as he eyed the empty bottle. "So we tried to look for ways to help her. I left Russia to do that, and met Alfred's uncle. Then I came to America, because Alfred goes to all over the world, and I might be able to find something for Natalia…then I met Yao, Francis…and then Matthew, and Arthur…da…"

The room was silence once again. Everyone wore a thoughtful expression, each going over what they'd just heard in their minds racing with questions.

Matthew and Arthur had many more things they wondered about, such as how Ivan got his ability to remain completely unaffected by anything supernatural, or how his parents "unnaturally"…died? The Russian didn't particularly say it directly.

"Ivan…Forgive me for being blunt," Arthur interrupted the silence, giving a small, dry cough, "How…was that related to why you were…well…trying to barricade yourself in?"

Ivan wore a blank look on his face as he looked back, and the British man wondered if he'd heard the question directed at him. Just as he was about to voice his inquiry again, the Russian answered:

"…I saw Natalia…"

"…What?" Alfred pushed off from where he was leaning against the wall, an expression of disbelief and shock on his face, "Isn't she in Russia?"

"…She…loves me…so she came to find me…I tried to call home to Yekaterina but—…" Ivan's voice drifted off.

He got up from his seat, and walked to the kitchen. Sounds of glass clinking could be heard, and Matthew knew at once that it was bottles of vodka rattling against each other.

When the Russian returned, as expected, he held a large bottle of alcohol in his hand, along with some empty glasses.

"…Thank God…" Alfred mumbled, "I can use a drink…"

As Ivan started pouring his guests their vodka, Matthew tentatively peeped out a question; "…Eh…Ivan…Wh-Why were you hammering nails into the door? …Couldn't you-Couldn't you just come find us if you needed help? Natalia is just a young lady, isn't she?"

"I don't know what Natalia is anymore…" Ivan's shoulders hung forward; he looked downright miserable. "I can't step out. As soon as I open my door, she comes out."

No one knew what that really meant.

"All my neighbours left this morning." _…so that's why it's so quiet here…_Matthew mused. "She scared them too…da…I couldn't call anyone. Every time I tried her voice was there…"

"I called you many times, aru, but you never picked up." Yao asked with a slight frown of concern.

"I…answered all calls I received except the one just a little while ago." When the Chinese man did not reply, Ivan lifted his head up, eyes widening: "You must believe me, Yao! I would _never_ not answer when it's you calling me!"

Yao blinked, and gave a warm smile. "I didn't think that, aru. I was just wondering if some of your incoming calls are been blocked off too or something."

Ivan seemed to take a small breath of relief. "Da…it's strange; I don't know why when you arrived, she wasn't there, and everything was okay…"

Matthew chose not to mention how it wasn't really "okay", or how creeped out he became as soon as they walked into the apartment building.

"Well, you should pack up and come to the office, yeah?" Alfred piped up, "We'll take turns staying with you so someone's with you all the time, and figure out what we're gonna do about this together when we get there. That sounds good to everyone?" He took a look around the room, and met no objections.

"…Thank you, Alfred," Ivan sent the American a smile, which was returned enthusiastically.

"No problem! I'm the hero, remember?" Alfred patted his chest, striking a pose that looked quite ridiculous, and gave a proud wink. "Now, pass the vodka!" He motioned and took a step forward.

Just as Ivan took a glass and lifted it up towards the American, the standing blonde suddenly went still.

His bright grin dropped, and the shine in his blue eyes dimmed.

Everyone turned in confusion; Ivan frowned.

"…Alfred? Vodka, da~?"

The hero's eyes flickered, and caught Ivan's in a dazed stare.

He wavered on his feet, and fell.

Matthew gasped, and Yao scrambled to catch onto the limp arms of the falling figure.

"_-_ALFRED!" There was an abrupt push and a dash so quick it was as if blurred – Arthur ran forward, and caught the American in his arms.

Carefully lowering the fallen blonde onto the floor, he turned Alfred over, and scanned his body for any clues leading to what could've caused him to fall over like that.

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he gave the taller blonde a shake.

"Alfred?"

The American groaned, and forced open his eyes.

"…Arthur…? What just—"

"You almost crumbled to the floor, you idiot!" Arthur winced; he didn't mean to sound so harsh. "How are you feeling?" He asked in a gentler voice.

"…I…I'm really dizzy…I feel kinda sick too…"

"…You look a little pale…" Placing a hand on Alfred's forehead, the British man waited for a few seconds before declaring: "Your temperature doesn't feel abnormal…do you feel anything else?"

"…Well…" Alfred frowned, "I-I guess…I think I feel kinda—"

A loud sound of an empty stomach growling cut through the tense atmosphere.

For a mortifying moment of extreme embarrassment, Matthew had thought it was his stomach, before he realized it did not come from him.

Arthur wore such a comically stunned expression the American he held in his arms burst out in laughter.

"S-Stop laughing! What in the bloody hell _was_ that?" The English man gave the laughing American a smack on the head.

"OW! I'm your patient, you know!" Alfred rubbed his sore head, and gave a lopsided grin. But it suddenly faded as his eyes glazed over once more.

"…Ooohh…I-I don't feel so good…"

Arthur was just about to ask more questions when a thought suddenly dawned to him.

"…Alfred…when was the last time you properly ate?"

Alfred had a somewhat hard time focusing his eyes on the face hovering above his, but managed as the bushy eyebrows made excellent landmarks.

"…Uhhm…I-I had a late breakfast…"

Arthur cursed under his breath, feeling exasperatedly angry at both the idiot in his arms and himself for not noticing how the always hungry man hadn't mentioned food _once_ in the past few hours.

"It's evening already! Why didn't you have lunch or dinner?" It was hard to keep the mothering tone out of his voice.

"Well, I had a bite—"

"A _bite_ is not enough for _meals_!"

Alfred blinked; "But I don't have money for those, man! I'm having enough trouble as it is with the rising rent and no business; we gotta keep our agency goin' no matter what, ya know! Besides, it's just _today_." He stated as though it was the most normal thing in the world to do. "Don't worry about me! I'll be fine, promise! Besides, I'm the _hero_—" Another lopsided grin started to spread, and, as cheerful and sincere it was, it broke Arthur's heart.

"_-Shut up for God's sakes!_" Biting back guilt threatening to overwhelm him, the Brit hauled the larger man into an upright, sitting position, and wrapped his arms under the American's armpits.

Holstering the protesting blonde up and supporting both their weights, he turned his piercing green eyes that allowed no room for non-sense to the one leaning against him, and spoke as authoritative as he could muster: "I am taking you to proper dinner, and there is absolutely _nothing_ you can do that will stop me!"

If Alfred could, he would've jumped up in the air and hollered in happiness and bliss.

_As if_ he'd do anything to stop Arthur from taking him out!

But since he was feeling rather under the weather, he merely nodded, and gave the shorter man a smile.

Arthur huffed, still annoyed at how carelessly the American treated his heath, but decided not to say any more, and made for the door.

"You should pack everyday necessities, Ivan; we leave as soon as Alfred finishes his dinner." Arthur said, tilting his head back a little, "And the rest of you can help with whatever that needs helping."

"Da." The Russian answered, looking worried as the rest of the team.

"…Speaking of dinner, we have yet had ours, _non_?" Francis turned to Matthew, frowning; "I apologize, Matthieu; I should've thought of this sooner. I'm usually more thoughtful…" The Frenchman looked ashamed, and thoroughly disappointed at himself for forgetting such an important matter; "_Je suis très désolé._"

"No, don't say that," Matthew shook his head, giving a kind, warm smile; "I had a big lunch, so I'm alright." He lied, not wanting Francis to feel worse. "We can have dinner after we're finished here, eh?" He offered eagerly.

Francis' expression softened, and he nodded. "_Oui_, that would be lovely."

"…You aren't going anywhere," Arthur's voice cut through the romancing atmosphere like a cold blade right before he disappeared from view with Alfred, "I'm buying you take out."

The Frenchman took in such a sharp gasp and looked so horrified at that it was as though the British man told him that he had bad hair of something equally as ridiculous and impossible; "_Non!_ That is not _romantique_ at all!"

There was a sound of the door being opened; "Bugger off, _Bonnefoy_, no one cares about your—"

"…Где - мой брат?"

A chilling, dark voice cut in.

Watching Ivan's posture immediately freeze in tense stillness and fear, Matthew instantly knew who it was. The Russian's eyes were to the direction of the door, wide, and unblinking, shining alertly and frightfully.

With an alarming suddenness, the temperature in the room dropped, and Matthew, shivering, could see his breath cloud in front of him. He was vaguely aware of Francis pulling him closer, but his most of his attention was directed at Ivan and the hall leading to the door.

From their angles, except for perhaps Yao, they could not see Arthur or Alfred, but the silence in the apartment signified that they had frozen on their spot as well.

"... Брат ...?" The same chilling voice called out; Matthew could practically hear the gleeful grin.

It was then he realized, startling to recognition, that he'd heard the voice before, though much softer in tone and more human.

"-What are you—" Alfred's voice was heard before there was an abrupt, sickening sound of—

_-metal puncturing flesh._

Matthew gasped; it was the only sound in the room as everyone held their breaths, not knowing what it exactly was, but all shocked and terrified of what it could suggest.

"…Arthur! _Arthur!_" Alfred's hysterical voice shook them all out of their dismayed daze, and Matthew was the first to push off from his place on the sofa and rush towards the door.

"-OH MY GOD!" The Canadian's frantic, distressed voice cried out; the scene in front of his eyes was one he had been most afraid of seeing.

Alfred, eyes glassy and wide with alarm, knelt on the floor with the British man, a hand holding Arthur's head while the other was pressed forcefully against the general area of the back of the fallen man's waist.

Blood seeped through the fabrics of Arthur's shirt, and through Alfred's fingers.

"-ARTHUR!" Matthew cried out once more, frightened tears spilling over his round, blue eyes, and rushed towards his cousin's side.

"-DON'T!" A strangled, pained voice rooted him to the spot.

Arthur, grunting, opened one of his squeezed shut eyes and pushed up to a sitting position despite of Alfred's shouts of protest. Teeth clenching, he caught his younger cousin's tear-filled gaze, and commanded in a firm tone:

"…Don't come any closer…" He winced and hissed, arms wrapping around Alfred's torso for support and fingers grabbing onto the American's jacket, shaking with strain. Green eyes flashed as they fought to stay open, catching onto Matthew's; "_Don't_…She's armed…and possessed. None of you stand a chance against her like this—…_damn it!_" A shout of pain accompanied the tightening of his arms around Alfred's body; his breathing was hitched, shaking horribly.

He was fighting hard not to tear up from how much the fresh wound hurt, and was losing.

Alfred had not said a word since the initial exclaims, but merely held Arthur against him, hand still pressed against the place of injury.

Blood was flowing out freely by then; it darkened the British man's pants and reached the floor, spreading slowly, but noticeably.

It was then that Matthew noticed as his hands shot up to muffle another loud gasp – a long knife, still dripping with Arthur's blood, was pointed at Alfred's neck, held by a hand hiding in shadows, extended from behind the opened door.

"Wh-What do we do?" The Canadian's soft, urgent voice was muffled. Francis was beside him, quiet but just as distraught.

"…Arthur, stay with me; stay with me…" Alfred's whisper could be heard with deafening clarity from how quiet and tense the atmosphere was; "We're gonna get you help, alright? So just hang in there!"

"…How do you suppose to do that, Jones?" Arthur gave a weak laugh, but stopped right away as it made his stab wound sting most horribly.

"Shut up; don't say anything unless it's useful, 'k?" The American tilted his head and pressed his cheek against the injured one's, "I'm your hero, aren't I? Nothing's gonna happen to you. I promise I'll get you to safety."

"…When did you become _my_ hero…" Arthur's voice held none of its normal cynical sarcasm, and that scared Matthew more than anything else.

"Скажите мне, где мой брат, или я убью Вас, да?" The sharp blade turned, and its cutting edge was pressed against Alfred's neck. The American wore a defiant expression, though he did nothing to act on such defiance.

It was quite clear what she wanted.

"…Ivan…Where the hell's Ivan?" He commanded an answer in a tone Matthew had never heard him speak in.

"I-Ivan's…Ivan—" The Canadian turned, and could only see a little of the Russian's frame, hidden partly by the wall and the sofa seat. "…You-You can't be serious! Alfred! You mustn't agree to her terms!" He shook his head violently in protest, "How do you know what she's going to do if—"

"_-That's not what I—_" Alfred winced as the blade was shoved closer to his throat, and he swallowed, taking deep breaths through his nose to calm his racing heart.

Blood still oozed from Arthur's wound, and was still warm. The taller blonde kneeling on the ground swore under his breath, and knew action was needed, fast.

"Where the hell is that Russian bastard? Get him to distract his crazy sister so we can lock her out again!"

Ivan remained sitting, completely unmoving.

"Ivan – _Damnit!_ Answer me!"

The Russian jerked in fright, and immediately covered his ears with his hands, curling into himself on his seat.

Arthur's breathing had evened into a deep, laboured pace as his eyelids began to droop, face abnormally pale.

"-Arthur? Arthur! Goddamn it! Stay with me; _stay with me!_" Alfred, voice gaining a hysterical edge once more, gently shook the now limp British man in his arms.

"No! Arthur! No!" Matthew's vision was blurred by torrents of tears to an extent he could no longer distinguish his cousin's form from Alfred's. Hands muffling sobs, he didn't even seem to realize Francis pulling him into his arms.

"Fuck!" Alfred swung his head around, uncaring about the dangerous proximity from the knife angled to cut open his throat, eyes blazing with anger and panic; "Fuck it! Ivan! We can't outrun her to get Arthur to a hospital!" When no reaction met his orders, he caught Yao's eyes instead, "Get that bastard out here right now!"

Yao, standing beside the Russian, jumped on his feet and did not know what to do.

"I-I can't, aru! He's not moving—"

"I don't care how! Just get his ass out here!" Alfred yelled back, arms tightening around Arthur, whose consciousness was starting to slip. "Arthur! Listen to me! Listen to me for once, goddamnit! Don't you dare close your eyes! _Don't you dare!_" Tears began to gather in the American's eyes as his face held a stubborn, angry scowl; "I'll never forgive you, you hear me? I'll never fucking forgive you if you close your eyes on me!"

The Chinese man knelt down beside Ivan, who was trembling in his sofa seat, silent tears dripping from his eyes and falling onto his thighs, damping the fabric of his pants to a darker shade, jaws clenched and lips pressed tightly together.

"Ivan…Ivan, aru…can't you-can't you talk to her, please, aru?" Yao's hands were shaking as they gently touched Ivan's wrists.

But before he could answer, another cut in.

"…Где - мой брат?" The chilling voice was starting to sound aggravated.

The Russian man shook his head with terrified passion; "…Нет!"

"Just-Just talk to her, aru; you don't have to see her if you—"

"-Нет!" Ivan wasn't listening, lost in his horrified stupor.

"—Где - мой брат?"

"Ivan, _please_, aru—"

"_Нет!_"

"Ivan?" Alfred cried out once more.

"Где - мой брат?" A menacing growl.

"We must act!"

"_-Где - мой брат?_"

"NOW!"

"Ivan—"

"**Где - мой брат?**"

There was a horrifying scream as the knife was swung back and plunged down towards the kneeling American.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

_Нет_ – No

…Где - мой брат? – …Where is my brother?

Скажите мне, где мой брат, или я убью Вас, да? – Tell me where my brother is, or I shall kill you, yes?

**Ending Notes:** Cliffhangers ftw? –is smacked–

Awwww, y'all know I love you. :D

Ok, so…this chapter isn't really longer than usual, but I thought this was a good point to stop 'cause a lot has happened up to this point.

Donno if it's just me but…the thought of seeing Natalia all mangled and distorted on the ground in the dark is pretty…ehhh…_unnerving_ to say the least…anyways…

I totally abused Alfred's hero complex here; hopefully it doesn't come across as annoying, though…I have a feeling that this is hardly gonna dampen his heroism in the least in the story…Maybe I just like the idea of him wanting to be like superman a bit too much. –hearts–

Though…now that I think about it, Arthur was kind of more of a hero in this chapter…_Blasphemy!_ XD

In case anyone's wondering, the reason Alfred was feeling faint is just 'cause of low blood sugar from not eating enough. It's not fun man, and can just all of a sudden hit you out of nowhere; I heard it can be quite serious too, so eat right and never starve yourself! D:

Sorry I had Arthur stabbed…the full extent of his injury will be elaborated next chapter, I think.

Aaaaand…well…I honestly donno what to say; I think the chapter pretty much speaks for itself XD

**Big thanks to all of you guys so, so much for all your support and kind words and everything!** GROUP HUUUUG! –tackles and squishes–

Anyways, if you have time, drop me a few words! Y'all know I love hearing from you guys. :D


	15. CASE2: Natalia, Part 4

**Author's Notes:** Sorry I'm updating so late in the day! I took a nap that ended up being a lot longer than I intended.

Anyways, here it is my darlings – a new chapter! Enjoy! :D

-hugs-

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

"_Ivan…Ivan, aru…can't you-can't you talk to her, please, aru?"_

"…_Где - мой брат?"_

"…_Нет!"_

"_Just-Just talk to her, aru; you don't have to see her if you—"_

"_-Нет!"_

"—_Где - мой брат?"_

"_Ivan, please, aru—"_

"_Нет!"_

"_Ivan?"_

"_Где - мой брат?"_

"_We must act!"_

"_-Где - мой брат?"_

"_NOW!"_

"_Ivan—"_

"_**Где - мой брат?**__"_

"NO! ALFRED!" Matthew fought to run to Alfred's aid, but Francis held him back before charging forward to stop the descending knife from lodging into Alfred's skull himself.

Alfred gasped, swinging his head around and tilting his head upwards, could only stare, eyes widening, frozen by terror.

A scream left Matthew's lips: "NO—"

"-**NATALIA!**"

The knife hit a sudden stop.

Silence was heavy, and dreadful.

"…брат...?"

The young girl's voice suddenly turned gentle and sweet.

"Да... Я - здесь..."

Ivan's voice was taut and flat in tone, and forced out through quivering lips.

"…Я могу видеть Вас, брат?" A hopeful smile could be heard in the voice.

Ivan did not reply, eyes unfocused and blank.

Yao reached a tentative hand towards his face and touched his cheek, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"…Ivan, aru…?"

The Russian man did not react.

"…брат?" The young, sweet voice bell-like in timber inquired coyly.

"Ask her to drop the knife," Alfred spoke up, cold sweat damping the messy strands of blond hair around his face, eyes wet with lingering tears, staring intently at the space in front of him.

Ivan swallowed, though his mouth was dry.

"Если Вы... Если Вы понижаете нож, Natalia…Вы можете видеть меня."

There was a stretched, edged silence.

When the young girl replied, her tone suspicious and pointed.

"…Я понижу мой нож только, когда я вижу Вас, брата."

The room went still again as all held their breaths.

When neither Braginskis spoke, Yao cupped Ivan's cheeks with his palms and lifted the pale blond man's face. Meeting scared violet eyes, he asked, voice firm, but consoling: "What did she say, Ivan?"

Ivan watched Yao's face, searching for support and strength in the dark-haired one's eyes. When he finally found them, he blinked, and answered in a whisper, "…She…will only drop the knife if she sees me."

Yao nodded slowly; "…I'll go with you, aru." Holding onto Ivan's wrists, he led the Russian up from his seat.

Looking up at the towering form, he gave a small smile, and tugged at the large hands.

Matthew and Francis, standing to the side, allowed the two passage as they walked past. Ivan's face was downcast, eyes in shadow so the Canadian could not see what he was feeling. Scooting a little closer to the Frenchman beside him, the Canadian followed the progressions with alertness, ready for anything in case something happened.

Yao, carefully stepping around the kneeling Alfred holding an unconscious Arthur and leading Ivan to the door, froze as he stood in front of it, eyes widening, but otherwise showed no direct reaction.

Ivan stopped beside the Chinese man, tilting his face up, and met the gaze of his younger sister.

Matthew could not see Natalia; he wanted to follow, but Francis' arms held him back, not quite relentlessly, but firmly. After a few attempts at pushing away, the Canadian decided it was better to stay where he was, since crowding around the doorway probably wasn't a very good idea.

There was a silence of anticipation; it was horrible, as no one knew what to expect and prepare for it.

Yao stepped a little more to the right, giving plenty of room in case it becomes needed, and Ivan walked to stand right in front of the door.

Everyone was still.

Alfred held Arthur closer, and tried not to look at the puddle of blood that soaked his pants and the British man's.

It was the calm before a storm; the anxiety in the air was thick enough to be visibly sliced right open with a sword.

Ivan's violet eyes shimmered, unreadable; Natalia's hand still held the knife, but it was hanging down, no longer clutching the handle but simply wrapped around it.

"…брат…"

The fingers around the brown, wooden handle of the knife loosened.

There was a heavy "clunk" as it fell to the ground, missing Alfred's leg by mere inches.

The American jolted, but did not exhibit any other reactions.

"…брат!"

The hand was raised and extended towards Ivan. Another hand followed the former.

In a sweeping motion, Natalia came out from behind the door, out of the shadow and into view.

Matthew's gasp of shock died in his throat as he immediately turned to hide his face against Francis' chest, a soft cry hitching, but the image of utter mutilation was already burned inside his head.

Natalia looked nothing like the young girl in his dream.

Her body, drenched in layers of dried, rotting blood, had dark, decaying bruises and gashes slashed open but never healing all over it; at least from what could be seen unhidden from view by her dress, covered in clumps of filth and strange matters no one could distinguish. Her hair was dirty and matted to her face, sticking to the grimy skin as if in a perverse, loving caress. She looked like she was brutally tortured, carelessly buried, and then bug up for malicious amusement for show at a freak circus or as a trophy of uttermost atrocity.

What was most unnerving, however, was how brightly her pale blue eyes shined and how strained the wide grin across her face was, stretching tight, dried skin, almost ripping the thin tissue that produced frightening wrinkles as protests at its abuse.

Her strangely pearly white teeth glinted like the blade on the ground.

Her hands, fingernails some dirty and some torn off, were lifted upwards, and were breaths away from Ivan's pale face.

…Then everything happened all at once.

Natalia leapt forward, laughing hysterically in victory and glee, grabbed onto Ivan's shoulders and opened her mouth in a full scream, jaws popping open as the inhuman sound shot out from deep within her body.

"-IVAN!" Yao's alarmed voice cried out, and an umbrella came out of nowhere and whacked the girl on the side of her head, stalling her pending bite.

Snapping out of his stunned daze, Ivan immediately moved sideways.

He missed a direct, possibly life-threatening chomp on his neck by millimeters.

Alfred instantly scrambled onto his feet, and hauled Arthur up into the air with a growled, strangled shout of forced strength, pulling the two of them out of the way of the wrath of the now angered Natalia. He fell onto the floor of the living room, Arthur falling down on top of him like a lifeless rag doll.

Matthew, torn between helping Ivan and Yao, and tending to Alfred and his cousin, was pushed into the living room by Francis.

"_Help Alfred!_"

The Canadian had only taken one step into the living room when a full scream of fury pierced into his ears. A familiar arm suddenly wrapped around him again and gave a rather harsh tug. Wondering what was happening, he turned his head, and could only watch with wide eyes as Natalia flung her body around to charge at the both he and his lover.

It seemed that Alfred's escape alerted her of her need for hostages, and, frankly, she _really_ didn't give a damn who it was.

Francis, arms and body shielding Matthew, prepared himself for a brutal assault.

Suddenly, her body was yanked back by an unseen force. Her head flopped violently to the front at the sheer strength of the pull; it was as if her neck was already broken.

There was a sickening crash of thin bones against a hard surface as she was thrown against a wall. She snapped her head up, and was just going to let out another shriek of anger when she noticed who it was that stood over her, with a shinning water pipe clutched in his hands.

"…брат…!"

Ivan, violet eyes shimmering with unshed tears, raised his hands and brought the pipe up over his head to one side.

"…простите, Natalia."

In a flash, it was flung down against the side of her skull.

An abrupt, sticky crunching sound of blunt metal against flesh and bone ripped through the sudden silence, though it was only somewhat of a dull thud.

Natalia didn't seem to mind the blow to her head at all. However, she looked more mortified at the fact that she was falling through the door, and Ivan was reaching to close it.

"НЕТ! БРАТ! _НЕТ!_" She cried, hands thrashing, trying to clasp onto anything to keep her from falling.

"**НЕТ—!**" Shrieking in desperation and despair at being separated from her beloved brother, she gave a last scream, and the door was slammed shut against her.

Silence felt strangely out of place.

Matthew turned his face slightly, and could barely breathe, not knowing if it was too early to feel relieved.

He watched the tall man, who still held his weapon with one hand while the other was pressed against the door.

There was a shuffle, and the Russian turned on his feet.

Back against the door, he slumped down and fell into a sitting position on the floor. His water pipe clunked as it was thrown down rather carelessly, and Ivan, no longer able to deal with the conflicting emotions crying inside his heart, cupped his hands around his face, and wept.

Yao, still holding the umbrella, stood beside the sitting man, and watched with such an unbearable expression of agony it was as if he could feel everything the Russian was going through.

After all, having siblings of his own, he could imagine how heart-wrenching the situation must be.

Slowly making his way to kneel in front of the hurting man, he placed down the umbrella, and wrapped his slender arms around the shaking figure.

Ivan immediately leaned forward and fell into the embrace, almost as if ashamed. His sobs became muffled.

Tearing his eyes away from Ivan and Yao, Matthew forced himself out of Francis' comforting arms and rushed to help Alfred move Arthur onto the sofa.

"I will find the medical kit." Francis said, and disappeared from his view.

"Will he be alright?" Matthew, trying to catch Alfred's eyes, asked, almost begging for the American to flash a bright grin and reassure him with heroic words.

But his wish was not immediately met as he had expected.

Biting his quivering lips, it was all Alfred could do to not freak out and break down right that second, looking down at his bloody hand and trousers, and the still form of Arthur lying on the couch.

However, he knew he had to be strong, because, after all, it was what he had to do.

What makes heroes was not inhuman strength or super powers, but the ability to push aside their own sufferings to reassure others and take control of the situation with a clear head, no matter how close to heart the consequences were.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, and forcing a small smile onto his face, he could only give Matthew fleeting glances; "He'll be alright; he's a tough one, yeah? He won't get out of our hair just yet…" He could not look at the Canadian's tearful eyes for long, because he knew he would crumble, for he saw his own fears reflected back at him in the round, topaz orbs of the younger man.

The American never looked so tired and shaken, taking deep breaths and fighting back emotions.

It was then Matthew remembered that Alfred had yet had the chance to eat, and, only a small while ago, almost fainted from lack of food.

There were so many people the Canadian was worried about he was starting to feel lightheaded.

"Let's see the wound and figure out what to do from there." Not needing an approval, Alfred carefully lifted up the shirt, grimacing at the wet, peeling sounds made by the soaked fabric.

Face paling, Matthew looked away; there was too much blood, and it reminded him of—

_Blood…so much blood…_

"…_Papa…?"_

Biting his lips, he forced his mind from sinking into overwhelming flashbacks.

_Now's not the time, Matthew…Now's not the time…_He told himself.

Hearing Alfred swear under his breath, he turned back and glanced at the injury.

It was a nasty stab. He could at least tell that much, though he was no medical expert.

Hearing Alfred sigh, Matthew tilted his head slightly.

"…Alfred?"

The American shook his head; "He was…trying to protect me." Sighing once again, the _hero_ looked worn down and guilty; "She was aiming at my chest, but he covered for me and was going to get the both of us out of the way, but we fell, and part of her knife got him on the back instead."

There was a tense silence as Matthew looked over Alfred's face, noticing all the tiny cracks and crumbling parts of his faltering façade of level-headedness.

"…Hey…Alfred…it's not your fault, eh?" He gently put a hand on the older male's shoulder, hoping to offer some comfort.

"…Yeah…" Alfred did not look half convinced.

Not a second later, Francis returned with the medical kit and a glass of water. He took one look at the wound and grimaced, though he was careful to not make too much of an expression to look unpleasant.

"It looks as if it's stopped bleeding profusely, at least on the outside." The Frenchman opened the kit and took out some cotton balls, and began to carefully wash away some of the dried blood for better examination of the actual injury site. "It's not as deep as I feared, though we should still take him to a hospital as soon as possible."

Alfred merely nodded, and began to help Francis address the wound.

After a long while of relative silence and watching the two try their best at treating his cousin, Matthew spoke up: "…How do we get out of here, eh? Is she-Is she gone?"

"…_No…_"

A completely unexpected voice answered his question, and immediately, the three huddling around the British man snapped their eyes to Arthur's face to find one of his green eyes slightly opened and looking groggy.

"…-Arthur! How-How—…How are you feeling?" Matthew, after many attempts, managed to get out, spluttering from pleasant, relieved surprise.

"How do you bloody think—" Arthur winced as Francis dabbed a cotton ball against his wound to silence his snappy reply. Muttering in a softer tone of voice, he answered, "…You won't get rid of me that easily, I'm afraid." He spared a smile at Matthew, but his eyes met Alfred's instead.

The two looked at each other.

It felt as though they hadn't done so for too long of a time.

"…Are you…Are you feeling alright?" Arthur, blinking his one opened eye, asked, and, if he hadn't lost so much blood, Matthew was sure he would've blushed; "You still need nourishments…"

Alfred did not reply right away, but held the gaze longer, face absent of relieved smiles or proud claims of "heroes are always feeling alright".

Instead, he said softly, "…I can't really think about that when you're like this, Arthur." His eyes dropped a little, "I have too much on my mind for thinking about something like that…" He sniffed, and tilted his face down further, and pretended to be rubbing his nose.

Arthur did not know what to say. He was never good at comforting others, but he knew he had to say something.

This was one of the rare moments when he was jealous of qualities Francis had, which was to always seem to know exactly what to say that was best for the situation.

It turned out he didn't need to force himself; Alfred took a big breath, looked up once more, and gave a shaky grin.

"How are you? Do you need anything—uhhh…a hero can do for you?" The American gave a wink playfully, or, at least, he tried, and flashed thumbs up.

"…Don't do that, you bloody idiot," Arthur frowned, "You don't have to ruin the moment by pretending to always be the 'hero'."

There was a pause.

Alfred's expression changed…

His grin faltered, and eventually faded away. His eyes were suddenly not as clear as usual, and misted over. He was still, as was his expressions.

"If you really want to be the hero," Arthur sighed, but gave a small smile, a warm shimmer in the eye that remained open, "You should find a way to end this, and save everyone."

"…How d'you suppose I do that?" Alfred asked almost in an automatic manner, lips barely moving and words mumbled.

"We need more answers, especially since not everyone here knows exactly what happened in the past with Braginski and his family," Arthur stole a glance at Matthew, nodding a little, "We need information – whatever we can find to help us determine the nature of this case, which, from the sounds of it, is quite unusual, since there hasn't been a cure found."

"You thought all of that up while you were unconscious?" Alfred looked impressed.

Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes; "_Anyone_ with a basic sense of logic can figure that much out right away, Jones. And _no one_ can think when they are _unconscious_." A familiar, biting tone returned a little to his voice, though, this time, it made Alfred smile and beam happily at the prone figure on the sofa.

"He'll be just fine…" Francis was heard muttering, "I can safely assume the knife did not damage anywhere too important."

"Have her stab _you_, Bonnefoy, and we'll see what you say then." A weak glare was sent his way.

A shuffling sound interrupted their little conversation, and heads were turned.

Yao, leading Ivan, whose head was lowered, arrived into the living room and sat the tall Russian down onto his sofa seat. He reached for Ivan's glass, but was stopped by a half-raised large hand.

"…I'll have the bottle, da…" Matthew was relieved to hear at least some of that childish timber back in the Russian man's voice.

After handing the vodka bottle to its owner, Yao looked over at Arthur's wound, poking his head to see it clearly from two or three steps of distance away.

Accessing what he could see, he hummed; "If I had my things I can fix that with no problem, aru…"

"We kind of didn't come very prepared, eh…?" Matthew scratched the back of his head, nibbling on his lips self-consciously, "Though…we thought of this as a case and all…"

"Yeah, we kinda majorly screwed up." Alfred gave a laugh of embarrassment, and a murmur of laughter rang in the room for a brief moment. It was small, but lifted the atmosphere a little, which all were thankful for.

"Maybe I should go see what Ivan has in his fridge and cook some food, aru; since we are stuck here for the moment, no reason to stay hungry…We can decide what to do while we eat." With that, the Chinese man went to the kitchen after giving the still sniffing Ivan a firm pat on the shoulder of support and comfort.

The Russian's eyes and nose were red, as were his cheeks. He looked quite an accurate reflection of how he behaved most of the time – like a child – with his large, watery eyes and miserable pout, though his height made the effect most strange.

But since the team was already used to it, they found the expression rather endearing despite of the situation. It gave all a strong urge to cuddle with the man to offer comfort, though, of course, most would never admit it or act on that urge.

Yao was heard mumbling in the kitchen, and Matthew sighed, momentarily slightly relieved.

At least now the situation was somewhat stable and under control, and the team was allowed a breather.

~o0o0o0o0o~

_There was so much vengeful hatred he felt a strong sense of nausea._

_**Make them pay…Make them pay…**_

_There were assortments of various things he didn't recognize on the table, though he somehow knew what to do with them._

_He was in a dark room; his eyes were focused on the small table in front of him, and he could not move his head to look around to see where he was._

_It was then that he realized he was in someone else's body._

_His hands were pale like snow, and were generally more slender and petit. There were ruffled cuffs around his wrists, leading up to long-sleeve-covered arms of a rich, dark blue colour. Thin fingers mixed certain liquids and powders, and smoke rose, circling in the air under dim candle light._

_There was an ominous atmosphere; he quickly became very uneasy and wished someone would wake him up soon._

_It was quite easy to figure out what this was, since, after all, the last thing he remembered was Arthur yelling angrily at Francis, accusing the Frenchman for purposely making his wound-treatment more unbearable than it had to be, while Alfred tried to stop the British man from becoming too heated as to cause further harm to his weakened body._

_A small jolt of anticipating bliss at a wrong finally being put right turned his attention back to the dream, and he quickly grew alarmed as he saw long, blond hair shimmering from the corners of his vision._

_He knew who he was immediately._

_**Natalia…**_

_Words he did not understand left his lips, despite of his desperation and panic._

_**No! Don't do this!**__ He screamed, though the room remained quiet and the muttered words never stopped._

_**Don't!**_

_A form began to materialize in front of him; it was then he realized the small table in front of him was, in fact, placed at a corner of the room._

_With a quickly escalating terror mingled with the fear his current host identity felt, he watched as the morphing form started to take distinct features. And, gasping (he was not sure if this was Natalia's doing or his own), the shape stopped distorting itself, and stood still._

_It was a young girl, perhaps no older than Natalia herself. Her deathly pale skin had angry rashes of scraped skin and was marred by rotting wounds and gashes. She wore nothing, and did nothing to hide her developing, adolescent body from view. Arms thin enough to be snapped in two like twigs hung at her sides; her legs were skeletal. Large bones protruded in sharp angles all over her frame, some breaking through flesh to be exposed in stark whiteness emerging from stretched-open muscle tissues._

_But the most disgustingly shocking aspect of her appearance was her eyes, or rather the lack of them._

_It was as though they were clawed out from inside her skull; large, gaping holes were where her eyes once were. Blood still trickled down her chin, though it was not fresh, but in clumps of half-dried, decaying black, almost mucus like in texture._

_The smell was revolting, and Matthew would've retched and fainted from how utterly putrid it was, but Natalia remained strong and determined._

_One of the petit, slender, pale hands was lifted up, holding the bowl of mixed liquids and powders, and his lips opened._

_A sweet, but firm voice left them._

"_Накажите их…" He said, hatred once again overwhelming his thoughts of past wrongs committed against his family._

_It was hard to distinguish Natalia's thoughts from his._

"_Накажите их за меня, и я буду освобождать Вас…"_

_The tortured soul being conjured took a step in his direction, naked feet splattering on the floor, leaving behind a puddle of what could only be guessed as decomposing body matters._

_The hand holding the bowl started to shake as the dead approached near, tilting its head on a broken neck as if in curiosity, a gush of rotted blood spurting out of a large, slashed wound._

"…_Я буду освобождать Вас от вашего мучения…"_

_The girl was only a step from him, watching him with gorged out, hollow holes. Her lips suddenly moved, and a gurgling sound bubbled out from her throat._

_He felt himself frown; the hand holding the bowl lowered a little in confusion._

_The gurgling increased, and, suddenly, the thin body began to shake in violent spasms. The head on the broken neck bobbled almost in sick, twisted humour._

_A leer stretched across its moldering face, and the gurgles formed words._

"_**... Брат ...?"**_

_Abruptly, with a sudden surge of seizures, foul, brown slime spurted out from her mouth, flying out from behind blackened teeth and falling onto the small table with a disgusting splash of flesh-bits and bodily fluids._

_He screamed in shock, and jumped up a little, legs hitting the table._

_Everything shook; the bowl left his hand._

_And one of the candles toppled over, and its flame sizzled to nothing._

_Before a scream of alarm and panic even made it to his lips, a breath of rot blew hotly against his face._

"_... Брат ..."_

_There was a sickening crunch of fingers plunging into his chest and breaking bones as pain so intense he couldn't even breathe let along scream exploded inside his body._

_He was vaguely aware of someone breaking open the door to the room and screaming in terror._

_He could barely make out short blond hair and a green headband before all was consumed by agony and darkness._

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

Да... Я - здесь... – Yes…I'm here…

…Я могу видеть Вас, брат? – …Can I see you, brother?

Если Вы... Если Вы понижаете нож, Natalia…Вы можете видеть меня. – If you…If you lower the knife, Natalia…you can see me.

…Я понижу мой нож только, когда я вижу Вас, брата. – …I shall lower my knife only when I see you, brother.

…простите, Natalia – I'm sorry, Natalia (The word literally means "forgive" or something I think; donno if it's right but...it's what I found by searching on google...)

_Накажите их…Накажите их за меня, и я буду освобождать Вас…_ – Punish them…Punish them for me, and I shall release you…

…_Я буду освобождать Вас от вашего мучения…_ – …I shall release you from your torture/torment…

**Ending Notes:** Love for tiny cameo by Ukraine at the end of the chapter…?

I felt so bad for Ivan when I made him hit his sister Natalia…;_;

I was gonna have Yao whack her with a Wok when saving Ivan from being chomped, but then thought that Ivan, being Russian, wouldn't really have a Wok at his house (Do Russians use Woks? Probably not, eh? …Right?). I know someone suggested an epic scene with Yao and his Wok, but for some reasons…I can't find that particular comment! D: Well, in light of the situation, I'll definitely try my best to incorporate that into the story! Yao+Wok=MAJOR LOVE!

I'm not really familiar with knife wounds and whatnot, but I know (I think) that it doesn't kill you right away depending on how bad it is I guess. But just in case, I made it so that Arthur didn't really get any of his organs damaged, so it's just a nasty flesh wound that bled a lot.

But of course that isn't to say he's fine. D: Poor guy…

Anyways, I really don't have much else to add…However, before I say adieu, I just need to express that:

Whoooooaaaaa…I think…this case is gonna end in like the next chapter! O_O I didn't expect it to wrap up so soon, and I'm afraid some people are gonna get mad at me for an upcoming nasty surprise. XD But I promise I'll make it up to you. –hands out ice-cream cones–

I love you guys~~ –hearts–

Review? Please? ;_; Now where's that Matthew…need to dish out his puppy eyes…;p

…Next chapter will be longer, promise. –tackle-hugs–


	16. CASE2: Natalia, Part 5

**Author's Notes:** Well...okay fine, this chapter isn't really that much longer, but a lot happens in it! XD

Vivid/realistic imagination pertaining all of the five senses is highly encouraged. -hearts-

Sorry my updates are getting later in the day. I'll try to update earlier, like in early afternoon or something.

Anyways, happy reading, darlings! :D

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

"_... Брат ...?"_

_He screamed in shock, and jumped up a little, legs hitting the table._

"_... Брат ..."_

_There was a sickening crunch of fingers plunging into his chest…_

_Someone broke open the door…_

_Short blond hair and a green headband…_

…_Agony…_

…_Darkness…_

…

Smell of food reached his nose, and his stomach growled eagerly at it.

Slowly blinking open his eyes, he looked around, vision half blurry and half not.

It disorientated him before he realized his glasses were lopsided on his face.

Fixing them with a hand, he noticed he was curled up in one of Ivan's sofa seats, and that he was covered with Francis' jacket.

The team was huddling around the small table in the living room with exception of Arthur, who still rested on the long sofa.

Yao was pouring everyone soup from a big pot with a large spoon.

"…_Mmmrrghnnn…_" He tried to speak, but an unintelligible mumble came out instead.

Heads were turned towards his direction, and he felt a blush of embarrassment warm his cheeks.

"_Mon chéri_, you are awake!" Francis gave him a warm smile, "Come, have some soup." He waved a hand at the big pot.

Struggling to prop himself up onto his elbows, the Canadian rubbed his eyes and asked, "…How…How long was I asleep for?"

"I donno," Alfred shrugged, scooping a spoonful of the soup, "Maybe ten minutes?"

"Oh…"

It had felt much longer.

The American blew on the spoonful before holding it to Arthur; "Here, eat up."

"I don't need you to feed me…" The British man tried to scowl, but it came out more like a lopsided leer. To Matthew's growing worry, he noticed his cousin's eyes darting in and out of a daze frequently as if forcing himself to stay awake.

"You have to eat something, Arthur. It'll make you feel better," Alfred must've noticed the same thing. His lips pressed together, and the Canadian could see him biting his jaws while his eyes became glassier. "You have to give your body something to fall back on."

"…That's what you do _after_ you get treated, idiot…" Though the statement was meant to prick, its tone was low and weak. Arthur took a deep breath, and gave a slow, pained blink. "…_Damnit_…What a bloody mess…" Matthew suddenly noticed, sitting up quickly with a gasp, that Arthur's skin tone had abruptly fallen to a shade paler.

Alfred instantly threw down his soup and asked in an urgent voice, "What's wrong, Arthur? What's going on?"

"…it's-it's starting to hurt again…" Arthur winced, and clenched his fingers around the cushions of the sofa.

Alfred lifted his jacket he'd placed over the British man's body, and swore under his breath as he saw bright crimson spreading slowly over dried, dark brown.

"…He's bleeding again…" The American looked so desperate and helpless Matthew felt a pang of anguish just from seeing the expression alone.

Francis stood up, and went to Alfred's side to inspect the injury. Sighing, he brushed a hand through his long hair, and murmured, "We must get him to a hospital; is there no chance of any of us getting past Natalia?"

"She's crazily strong and fast. We can try, but more people might get hurt, and with Arthur like this, there's no way we can outrun her either." Alfred took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. Sighing, he put them back on, and had never looked more worn down. "And I _really_ don't wanna know what that desperate nutcase of a sister wants with her brother."

Ivan, listening intently, sighed softly and looked down, shoulders sagging. He was the epitome of shame and guilt as he stared into his soup, slowly swirling its contents with his spoon.

"…I…I'm sorry…da…" His voice was so small Matthew almost missed it.

"It's not your fault, aru," Yao put a hand on his shoulder, but said nothing else. It sounded miserably useless, but he didn't know what else he _could_ say.

"We have to—We have to figure out how to end this," Alfred said as he watched Arthur huffing out laboured breaths through pale lips; "We need all the clues we can get and hurry up to find a solution."

Turning to the Russian, he asked, "Ivan, can you tell us what exactly happened when your sister—…you know…"

Ivan did not meet anyone's eyes, but spoke quietly in a whisper, "No one knows…she was…alone in her room when Yekaterina heard her scream and went to see what happened. And-And then she was attacked; Natalia attacked her…"

"What was Natalia doing in her room?" Francis leaned on the arm of the sofa and inquired.

"I-I don't know…The evidence was taken away by the police, but I saw them when I went to ask about it. They were…candles and…and…" He paused, eyebrows furrowed, and gently shook his head; "I don't know what most of them were, da? I didn't know Natalia—…I couldn't believe Natalia would do this behind Yekaterina and I. She never lied to us…when she woke up in the hospital, we asked her about it, but she couldn't answer."

"…_Couldn't_ answer, aru?" Yao wore a frown of confusion.

"I think she tried to tell us what she did, da…but every time she tried, she would be in pain." Ivan put the bowl of soup down onto the table, face now completely hidden behind fallen hair. "I think…on that evening…I think she was trying to…trying to—……

…_She never forgave the ones who hurt our family…_"

Everything suddenly clicked together. Matthew gasped; its loud surprise turning everyone's eyes towards him.

"That's what it was! That's why she was angry!" He said, the dream racing before his eyes as if a playback of a movie; "She was—…She must've been doing some kind of a-a curse or something, eh? To get back at whoever hurt her family!" When no one replied, he continued, "I-I just had another dream, eh…and I think…I think I was Natalia on that day when she—well…" Stealing a few glances at Ivan and choosing his words carefully, the Canadian spoke on; "She had a table in front of her, and candles and other things on top of it. Then, suddenly, someone appeared. I think it was a spirit, or something that she was going to use for her purpose. It was going well until…" He had to suppress a shudder as the gaping, eyeless face flashed in front of him; "…until one of the candles fell, and—and the spirit possessed her instead…"

"…So the curse backfired…" Arthur's comment hung in the air like thick smoke, heavy and dreadful a thought.

"…I think…I think Natalia is scared, eh…"

Ivan's head moved a little, and violet eyes looked into his blue ones.

"I had another dream, a while back." Keeping the Russian's gaze, Matthew explained, tone soft, and sincerely hoped what he was doing was not going to harm the tall man. "In that dream, I saw Natalia…She was crying, and afraid. We were at a very dark place; I couldn't see anything." He paused; "It was…a very sad place, not quite bad, but was not welcoming either…I couldn't tell where one side began or where the other ended; it was _vast_, and completely dark wherever I looked. That was where I found her, crying…"

It was, of course, deliberate that he left out gory details.

There was a rather _strange_ silence that followed his words.

Matthew frowned; it was not what he expected.

"…What? …What is it?" Eyes darting from one pair to another, he sat back deeper into the sofa seat, and carefully asked.

No one replied.

Francis, glancing around the room, sighed, and decided to be the one to answer his little Matthieu with what no one wanted to say out loud:

"…_Mon chéri_…that place you described, it sounds awfully similar to—"

"**-Нет! Это не верно!**" Ivan abruptly shot up from his seat, violet eyes shinning with frantic disbelief and passionate denial; "It's not true!" He repeated in English, shaking his head, "I won't believe it!"

"-Ivan—" Yao began, but was immediately cut off.

"Нет! _Нет!_" The Russian shook his head once more. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his voice was loud, ringing inside the room.

"Ivan! You can't just push away everything you don't want to hear!" Alfred stood up from his spot as well in a manner that was perhaps a little too harsh and offensive.

"Это не верно!" The tall man pushed away Yao's arms as the Chinese man tried to embrace him; Yao looked hurt, but kept his distance. "Natalia-Natalia is—All of you just saw her! All of you just saw her, da? She can't be—She can't be—" He put his large hands over his ears; "I won't believe you! _I won't believe you!_"

"**-She's dead, Ivan.**"

A firm voice cut in, and everything froze to stillness and silence.

Matthew remained tense and unmoving from his seat, and watched unblinkingly at Ivan, though his mind was not seeing.

What Arthur had said still echoed inside his head.

…_Dead…? But-But she was just—_

"The place Matthew described is quite obviously the gap between the living and the dead; she is stuck there and cannot move on. Her body is no longer her own, but controlled like a puppet." Arthur took in a deep breath, voice suddenly almost accusing, "_You __**knew**__ this_, didn't you, Ivan. You _knew_ ever since you saw her that it was not your sister, but a corpse kept alive by means of black magic."

_It…It couldn't be…_Matthew's eyes widened; _it just couldn't!_

They just saw her alive and strong but a little while ago! Yes she looked haggard, but she moved freely and talked and demanded and—

"The only way to end her torment is to break her body."

-and called out to Ivan…

He felt tears fall down along his cheeks, and made no motion to wipe them away.

"Normally in these kinds of situations, we have more possibilities to consider, such as to return the curse to the original caster, or simply commit murder," Arthur's green eyes were no longer vibrant, but dulled to an almost lifeless daze, "But since _she_ was the one who performed the curse, there is nothing we can do." The British man sighed, and his eyes drooped to a close. "I'm sorry, Ivan, but it's not within anyone's power to help her anymore."

Everyone aside from the one lying on the sofa watched the Russian.

Ivan did not reply; he did not move.

It was as if he was frozen in time, frozen in despair.

He did not cry; he did not mourn.

He only stood there, still as a statue.

Somehow, Matthew would much rather have him weep uncontrollably than to see _this_.

After long moments of silence, Alfred sighed, and spoke up: "I'll do it, alright? You guys just wait here and…stay with Ivan." He paused a little, looking over his team; "Any objections?"

Matthew dropped his gaze, and lowered his chin. His cheeks were glistening with tears by then, but he never attempted to wipe them away.

Francis' eyes were on the small, curled up figure in the sofa seat, heart beating painfully inside his chest. He wanted nothing more to gather the crying Canadian into his arms, but could not move from his spot.

He felt as though it would be an inexcusable crime committed to Ivan's loss if he were to rush to Matthew's side and comfort him, while someone in a possibly infinitely greater amount of pain unimaginable was just steps away.

Yao's face was downcast as well.

He, like Ivan, did not move, and looked still enough to be a statue. But his face was overwrought with anguished emotions. His fists were clenched at his sides, and tears swam in his eyes as he bit his lips.

Alfred looked down at the prone figure on the sofa, but found, to his alarm, that the British man had fallen into unconsciousness once more.

He did not want to do this, but he decided, to great shame as it opposed everything a hero stood for, for his own selfish emotions, that, _really_, he would not blink twice before killing the empty corpse of a body that belonged to a good friend's sister if it meant getting Arthur to safety.

Nodding with a grim expression even more frightening on the usually cheerful American, he made his way towards the door.

Reaching for the Russian's water pipe, he literally jumped as a voice stopped him.

"No."

All attention fell to the Russian.

Matthew looked up, eyes red-rimmed and wide.

"No…I'll do it…" Ivan's broken, defeated tone whispered; "…I'll do it…da…" A small smile lacking all emotions associated with the expression appeared on his face.

Somehow, to his onlookers, it was even more devastating and heartbreaking than tears and sobs.

The tall man slowly turned, and walked to the door. Passing Alfred, he picked up his water pipe.

Weighing the object in his hands, he turned to his friends, though his eyes were lowered so that he would not have to directly look at any of them.

"…I think…you should cover your ears, da…?"

Matthew's hands shook as he covered them.

Biting back a sob, he closed his eyes, and pretended to not hear the voices, the screams…

…or the sound of metal repeatedly beating into soft flesh meant to break bones and brutally kill.

…

~o0o0o0o0o~

…

The weather had turned drastically colder.

Matthew, climbing the stairs out of the subway station, wrapped his coat tighter around himself and jogged into the building where Alfred's agency was located.

Sighing in comfort as he entered the front doors, he took off his hat, and boarded the elevators.

He had both his scarf and coat off as well by the time he arrived in front of the agency's door. Knocking simply to be polite, he gently pushed it open, and was greeted by a most familiar sight.

"-You bloody idiot! Look what you've done!" Arthur, jumping up from the sofa and bellowing, swatted Alfred on the head with quite a loud slap, thick eyebrows jerking in anger.

The Canadian at the door noted, with a frustrated sigh, that the American had, once again, somehow gotten tea all over his cousin's pants.

"_OW!_ You're gonna kill all my brain cells if you keep this up, man!" Alfred retorted in an equally loud voice, rubbing at where Arthur hit him.

"It's not my fault there isn't much in that empty head of yours to begin with!" The British man looked absolutely livid, bristling; Matthew imagined steam coming out of his red ears.

"Hey! That was just mean you know!" The American shot up from his seat as well, cheeks starting to flush.

"You ruined a pair of my pants _again_!" Arthur threw his arms up in wild gestures, green eyes flashing and lips in a sneer.

"Oh, yeah? Well I ain't goin' t'do nothin' 'bout it!"

"-What—_Speak English!_"

"-Alright! Alright! Shut up! Both of you!" Matthew cut in before they started throwing teacups at each other again. He still had shivers thinking about that rather aggressive, somewhat peculiar fight the two had a little while ago which resulted in half demolition of the office and a Frenchman in the hospital being hit on the head by a flying flower pot (which was really an accident, but nonetheless harmful).

Apparently Alfred was trying to make up with Arthur, but failed in a way quite similarly to what happened when he last tried about a month ago, before all of them had left to find—

Matthew blinked; "…Ivan?"

The tall man was in front of his fish tank, talking to his fish softly in Russian.

He hadn't seen the violet-eyed blond since Natalia's funeral.

After Ivan had eternally silenced the possessed body of his younger sister, they had found, to great dismay and barely hidden disgust, that Natalia had passed away quite a long time ago, and was only kept from being rotten completely to the core by the possessing spirit. After the said spirit had left, the body quickly decayed into a pile of soggy, putrid flesh with bits and pieces of broken bones.

The smell alone made everyone's head swim in nausea; combined with the sight of such a mess, it was deadly.

Francis, after taking one look and breath after stepping out the door of Ivan's home, paled and swooned, falling over onto the floor, looking rather green; and, as he slowly shook himself out of it, quickly pulled his handkerchief out from his pocket to cover his nose and mouth, forcing down dry heaves and coughs.

Matthew was too horrified to do anything but stare, rooted to the spot. He couldn't even bend down to help the suffering Frenchman back onto his feet.

Yao had gone with Alfred and Arthur to the hospital. The British man was, fortunately, spared the spectacle of Natalia's final demise, being carried by the American's arms, unaware and weak.

The Chinese man stole glances back towards Ivan, who stood in front of his victim with blank, dull eyes, and wore an expression that told of how much he wished he could stay with the Russian. But Alfred needed someone to go along with him, and, though Matthew had been the first choice, he was too in shock from seeing the rotting pile on the ground to be much of help.

As it turned out, it was a good decision to not have the Canadian follow along, since he was in no condition to offer any aide.

Alfred, exhausted and still starved, fell over as soon as he'd gotten Arthur to the emergencies and handed the British man over to the doctors and nurses.

Yao had a few stressful hours by himself dealing with all the procedures and answering questions, all the while worrying over all his team mates.

Luckily the American got better as soon as there were some nutrients back into his system, and helped unload some of the Chinese man's burden.

Over the next few days, lies were made up in place for the incident. Policemen asking about Arthur's stab wound were told a carefully fabricated story, and Natalia's body had been collected, or rather, scooped up into a box.

It was a nasty clean up, but they could not delay as to spare Ivan's neighbours from seeing the sight.

Yao had insisted to help Ivan, as did Matthew.

Francis was reluctant, but since his _petit chéri_ had volunteered, he decided to do the same.

After Arthur was allowed out of the hospital, they all drove far to a large field of wild grass, though most of it was dead due to the weather, and held a small ceremony for the poor girl, who was finally freed from the torment she brought upon herself, and was allowed to move on.

However, as a small comfort to Ivan, Alfred had insisted that the field was notorious for its beautiful wild flowers during summertime, and that any young woman would've loved to visit such a place.

It was days later that news of how Yekaterina was hospitalized reached Ivan's ears, but, by the time he had gotten word, she was already released from medical care.

Over the next weeks, the Russian locked himself in his home and wouldn't see anyone except for Yao, who sent him food and stayed with him in his apartment, sometimes overnight, just as company.

While Ivan was away, Alfred finally took the time to tell Arthur and Matthew of what happened to Ivan's family, though even he did not know the details.

The Braginskis were quite well-off, and a happy family. However, due to many unforeseen circumstances and unavoidable consequences, elder Braginski made enemies in his profession.

An underhanded, malicious way was taken by malevolent, aggressive competitors, and, on one winter night, the family was attacked by unseen forces.

The three siblings watched as their home was torn and their parents slaughtered and ripped apart.

It was on that night that Ivan, hot tears streaming down his dirty, bloody cheeks, screaming with fury, anguish, and bordering insanity, took up a broken pipe from the ground, and saved his remaining, broken family from the same fate.

No one quite knows how he got the ability, but no one dared to ask for the details to try to figure out the mystery.

While Ivan was staying home, Matthew had taken the job of taking care of the fish, which was why he frequented the agency on a daily basis. Usually Francis came with him to see how Alfred was doing (to make sure he was eating right and such), sometimes convincing a grumbling, but secretly worried Arthur to come along as well.

"Alfred will definitely be pleasantly surprised. You should not limit the times to see him solely to dates, Arthur; that is not enough." He had said to the British man.

Speaking of the British man…Matthew sighed, he was glaring daggers at Alfred again, no doubt still sore about the fight a few days ago, but now also fuming about his spilt tea and wet pants. The American was glaring as well, though his angry growl looked more like a pout and his arms were crossed in front of his chest in an almost childish manner.

The Canadian shook his head and gave another sigh.

_These two need angry sex._

He was suddenly aware of three pairs of eyes staring at him in shock.

Even Ivan had his attention torn from the fish tank and was goggling with round saucer eyes.

…_What…?_

Perplexed, he looked from one person to the next, growing more self-conscious as seconds ticked by.

"Wh-What are you looking at me for, eh…?" Fidgeting, he was starting to get awfully unnerved.

"…Matthew…_What_ did you just say?" Arthur spoke after opening and closing his mouth many times out of surprise.

"…What are you—…_Oh God!_" Hands shooting up to cover his mouth, his eyes widened as he took in a big gasp, cheeks flaming red.

"Did I—_I didn't!_" He squeaked out.

"_Jesus_, Mattie," Alfred ran a hand through his messy, short blond hair, giving a small laugh of amusement and incredulousness, "Didn't know you had it in you to be so blunt!"

…_OH…MY…GOD…_

Matthew practically felt himself being burned to a crisp at how embarrassed he felt.

"…Errrm…I-Ivan!" Hurriedly trying to get the attention away from himself, he turned to address the Russian still gaping at him, but with a more tickled look; "I didn't expect to see you here, eh…How-How are you?" He scooted to stand in front of the fish tank to escape his cousin's disapproving glower at what he'd accidentally said, and gave the tall man a smile.

"I'm alright, Matthew; thank you for asking, da~" Ivan replied, his usual, childish demeanor back, though his eyes still held a small shimmer of mournfulness and sorrow.

"It's great to have you back, Ivan." The Canadian replied, voice sincere and heartfelt. He's been very worried, and part of that was lifted upon seeing the Russian at least out and about. "I've been taking care of your fish, but they really missed you, you know! Whenever I come to feed them, they'd come up to the glass to see who I was, and when they saw it wasn't you they'd swim away!" Matthew pouted, sticking out his bottom lip and hands propping up at his hips; "It's so not fair! I feed and talk to them too, but they just ignore me! …I've been taking care of them and stuff for weeks now, and they still don't recognize me!"

Ivan blinked a few times, and broke out into soft laughter. His eyes twinkled as the strawberry blonde opposite of him pretended to huff, looking quite similar to a fluffed up bird. He reached out a large hand, and patted the shorter man gently on the head.

"Then I should properly introduce Matthew to them, da~?" Encouraging the Canadian to stand closer to the tank, he turned to the fish and spoke in a clear voice, "This is Matthew, da~? He is a very good friend of mine, and you should treat him nicely, da~~?"

A few fish swam by, glanced at Matthew, and lazily swished away in the water.

Matthew looked even more dismayed, and, seeing the sulky, whiny expression, Ivan couldn't help but burst out into laughter once more – it was rather cute.

In truth, the Canadian wasn't in the least bothered by the fish.

It simply felt great to hear Ivan laugh again.

"So," He began with a smile after the taller man stopped laughing, "Have you fed them already?"

"Da!" Ivan nodded enthusiastically, but the happy glitter in his violet eyes slowly faded away. "Da…I won't be able to do that for a while…"

Matthew blinked; "…What? Why?" He asked, expression falling to a perplexed frown.

That caught Alfred and Arthur's attention as well, and, for the moment, they stopped glaring at each other.

"Yeah, what do you mean by that, Ivan?" The American piped up.

"I…I need to go back to Russia, to be with Yekaterina." Ivan averted his gaze and looked back at the fish, large hands pressing gently against the cool glass. "She needs me right now, and I need to be with her too. We have to rebuild our home…"

There was a surprised moment of silence in the office before Matthew spoke up once more.

"But-But you'll be back right? You'll…You'll be back when things settle down, right?" He asked, and when Ivan merely pressed his lips together, his tone gained an edge; "Ivan?"

"-I don't know, Matthew." Violet eyes looked down; "It's been…hard for me, da…I always miss Yekaterina, but now it's even more unbearable. She calls me every night. She says she gets scared at home, being alone, but I think she's hurting…She doesn't think I know, but I can tell that she was crying before she called me every time…" The Russian's voice trailed off to a low, pained note, and tears once again rimmed his eyes. "Natalia—…Too much at home reminds her of Natalia for her to bear alone, and I'm—I'm all she has left now, so…"

Looking at the heart-wrenching sight of a badly injured soul, Matthew didn't know what to say.

"Will you…Will you be coming back…?" He whispered, eyes glassy and unblinking.

Alfred held his breath; Arthur turned his gaze to the floor.

"…_Нет_…I can't leave Yekaterina behind by herself again…" A whisper replied.

The silence that followed was heavy; Matthew fought to push down the rising urge to cry out in protest and dismay.

"…Does…Does Yao know about this?" He decided to ask after many long pauses of contemplation.

"Da…I told Yao first…I asked him if he can go to Russia with me."

Heart beating loudly, the Canadian's voice shook; "And…And what did he say?"

A sad smile ghosted across the Russian's pale face, and he simply shook his head.

"Yao has more important things to do; he needs to be with everyone at the agency, da? He has people depending on him—"

"-But-But that's—That's not right!" Voice suddenly rising in volume and desperation, Matthew reached forward and grabbed onto the Russian's arm with both hands insistently, surprising the taller man; "You want him to go with you, no? For the past weeks he's been doing nothing else but care for you, so he must want to go with you too!" When Ivan merely turned his face away, biting onto his lips and shoulders trembling, the Canadian cried out, tugging onto the arm he held tightly in his hands; "Ivan! You can't do that! You can't just leave as if there's nothing between the two of you! I-I mean, neither of you said anything yet but it's pretty obvious that there's _something_—" Matthew shook his head clear of babbling words and went straight to the point, "You have to convince him! What if you never see each other again? What if you never have another chance to be with him!"

…

…_Too late…_

…_Always too late…_

_Sometimes you don't get another chance...just like—_

Ivan began to struggle, avoiding his eyes, but the smaller blonde held on.

-_how I couldn't…I couldn't let him know—_

"—_Papa…?"_

_-I'm sorry…_

"…Does he not know how you feel, Ivan?" The notion suddenly dawned to the Canadian, who gasped; "You can't just leave him! _Ivan, you can't!_" The Russian did not answer, and Matthew cried out louder:

_Please…I beg you—_

"You care about each other, no?"

_Don't make the same mistake that I did._

"_**You love each other, no?**_"

"-Matthew!" Arthur's voice cut in, tight-strung with tension and barely suppressed emotions, "That's enough."

"But—…But—" Words died in his throat, and, out of desperation, he swung his head around to seek help from the hero: "-Alfred?"

His spark of hope that the American would be on his side crashed to its death as soon as his eyes found the taller blonde.

Alfred looked back at him, but he just looked tired, and crestfallen.

Angry that he was the only one who saw forthcoming tragedy if Ivan were to just leave Yao behind forever, he shouted out, hoping to talk some sense into his audience with a louder voice.

"What's wrong with all of you? Why shouldn't Ivan pursue after someone he loves? Why shouldn't Yao go to Russia with him if he loves him!"

"It's not that simple—" Arthur began in a frustrated tone, but Matthew cut in.

"Why does it always have to be difficult then?" Blue eyes darting from one person to another, he was devastated that his efforts met no results. "So—what?—Ivan should just give up without even trying?" He threw his arms up in exasperation.

When no one replied, he shook his head in disbelief; "I don't…I don't understand, eh…I don't understand how all of you can be so—…" Biting back tears, he whispered in a biting tone: "…If Francis was here, he'd understand…If he were to go to France and never come back, he'd convince me to go with him."

His voice echoed a little in the still room.

"…No," Alfred shook his head; "…No he wouldn't, Mattie…"

His statement was like a bucket of ice cold water; it stabbed into Matthew's heart, and it throbbed painfully.

"Not if you already refused him and chose to stay."

…He wasn't sure whether to be more surprised at how bleak and hopeless Alfred's statement was, or how certain the American was as he said it.

"…But why? …Why would Yao choose to stay…?" Tears fell from his eyes; "Why would he—Why would he not go with Ivan? If…If Ivan's important to him then—…"

Matthew didn't know why tears were falling as he stubbornly tried to stop them.

Was it compassion and grief, or perhaps intense empathy, for Ivan's situation?

Or—

"You're overreacting, Matthew. You shouldn't shove yourself in their place;" Arthur sighed, "You can't pretend this were you and Bonnefoy; it isn't about either of you." Green eyes met his, consoling but firm. "Ivan isn't Bonnefoy, and you aren't Yao. You aren't being fair if you assume the circumstances like that. It's not making it any easier for the two of them either." When the Canadian snapped his eyes away almost as if stung, the British man blinked, and softened his tone of voice. "Whatever they decide to do, they must've already thought about it. We can't sway their decisions; we aren't in the position to do that anymore if choices have already been made."

A heavy silence hung in the room.

"…But…But—……"

He trembled.

"…_What about their feelings…?_"

With a small, hurt whimper, Matthew felt his tears spill over completely, and hid his face behind his hands as he muffled his shaky sobs. "It's-It's not fair…Won't they—…Won't they be lonely…?"

He was surprised when strong arms wrapped around him, and pulled him into a broad chest.

"…Don't worry about me, da…?" Ivan's voice was warm, and soft; "I will be alright; so will Yao." Arms tightened around him. "I have a feeling that everything will be alright, da~?" Matthew could feel a small, melancholic smile appear on the Russian's face. "I am strong; Yao is strong too…

"…Though it is true that we probably won't be able to see each other for a long time, but we will see each other again somehow.

"I want to believe that, so don't be sad for us, da…?

Please, don't be sad…"

Nuzzling his face in the soft, fluffy scarf around the tall man's neck, Matthew took a deep, shaky breath, and slowly nodded.

"…I'll miss you, Ivan…"

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Ending Notes:** Oh noes! Nasty surprise! D: Plot-turns making y'all dizzy yet? -dodges tomatoes-

The whole thing about Ivan beating up his sister is left to your imagination 'cause I didn't want to write it. I mean I could've, but I thought there's enough angst in this chapter already ;_;

Sorry it went by so fast. I just thought that, despite of being lucky and not getting anywhere important jabbed at by the knife, Arthur really doesn't have that much time. I mean, a stab-wound is still a stab-wound; you still lose lots of blood, yeah?

Poor Matthew, eh? Suffering invisibility to Ivan's fish…I had to somehow add that little part in, to make up for, I guess, how the other characters actually notice him in this story. XD

It made me sad to have Ivan leave for Russia, but rest assured that he's not leaving the story (I love him too much to have him go). Writing that part was hard, and yes, I know Matthew was overreacting a little (as pointed out by Arthur), but then again, if I were in his situation I'd probably freak out too, so…

Based on Matthew's life experiences, I'm thinking he'd probably be very sensitive about this whole "sometimes you don't get another chance" thing. Poor guy…

I feel kinda bad to see Natalia leave in such an undignified manner, turning into a rotting pile and all, but…it had to happen for the case to go on.

You can't always save everyone, eh?

The next few chapters, including probably the entirety of the third case, are going to be a BIG bridge section leading to the final case, which I plan to make the bloodiest, most demented case ever (or at least try), being the one that has the climax of the story and all. Besides, by _that_ time the rating's gonna be _Mature_ so I can be a little more liberating with the gore and creepy-ness. ;)

Man I had these wicked-ass dreams that scared the crap out of me but I'm like OMG I HAVE TO USE THIS FOR THE FINAL CASE!

With that said, I need to wrap up all the side-pairings (Alfred-Arthur and Ivan-Yao) before that happens because the 4th case is going to be more or less Francis-Mathew centric relationship wise (I mean I gotta leave the worst for the main pairing XD), hence why the next two or three chapters are gonna be a blatant bridge section to introduce the third case (with hints to people's pasts and foreshadowing of future events). The third case itself is not _only_ going to include the actual case, but also _sub-plots_ that are important to different aspects of the whole story, ongoing _at the same time_ as investigations and whatnot…which is why it's going to be SUPER LONG!

…I'm not kidding man; it's really, REALLY going to be SUUUUUUUUPER long.

I hope I can pull it off…this is becoming more cinematic than I anticipated. XD

There will be new characters (like a horde of them) arriving in the 4th case, which means hinted relationships between them, and you can guess who they are if you want. ;p

One of these new characters will be making his _awesome_ cameo next chapter! 8D

Anyways, I'm gonna wrap this up, but before I do, I just would like to say that:

_You guys seriously have been the awesomest bunch ever. I'd like to take a few lines to say, once again, the biggest thanks to all of you_!

**THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EVERYTHING!**

All the reviews, favourites, subscriptions and whatnot mean so much to me. They bring a smile to my face when I'm having a bad day. I appreciate everything that y'all have done for me wholeheartedly. -big tackle-glomps-

Now, hint for the next case:

The team's gonna be travelling overseas to somewhere completely different. ;)


	17. Unexpected Reunion

**Author's Notes:** _Thank you guys so much for sticking with me for so long and being patient and also for __**everything **__you've so kindly done for me!_ I'm so sorry I couldn't post this chapter earlier in the day. I just got home not long ago and – ugh Xmas shopping can get so troublesome at times.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I made it extra long to make up for my lateness; hopefully that suffices to make you guys excuse my late-in-the-day update!

_Warning:_ Mushy-ness ahead in the latter part of the chapter.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

Matthew sighed, slow wiping a flower-patterned cloth over a table in circular motions. The previous patrons spilled a little of their tea, much to Roderich's annoyance, but he was quick to make his way to clean it up. However, once he got there and started, his mind wandered off elsewhere as he started to stare into the empty space in front of him.

He had sent Ivan off at the airport this very morning along with the rest of his friends. Needless to say, it was a sad parting. Though he hadn't known the tall man for that long, the time they spent together had always been heartwarming and excitingly fun. The childish, naïvely wishful part of him responded to the Russian's personality extremely well, which formed quite a strong bond between them.

It was rather impressive, since they didn't see each other very often.

The time they did spend together they spent it doing pretty much nothing at all; when asked, they more often than not couldn't remember what they exactly did, and would laugh awkwardly (at least on Matthew's part) about it. Yet strangely, that was what made them compatible.

They'd always return from their pointless escapades with happily flushed cheeks and radiant smiles of joy (and sometimes a bunch of balloons or sunflowers).

Both having lost their parents abruptly, they both had a sense of independence, but at the same time an underdeveloped childhood, which they found in each other.

Matthew regretted not spending more time with Ivan while he could, and now…

Sighing once more, he tried not to think about the way the Russian tried to smile through glassy eyes, or how long they hugged each other, all the while trying to pretend that they'd see each other soon…or how the tall man held Yao's hands so tightly his knuckles turned white, though the Chinese man never complained, and clenched back with equal fervor.

Violet eyes held such a passionate, intense gaze as they met Yao's dark orbs, unblinking and wet. They spoke no words to each other, and did not hug.

As Ivan's figure disappeared around a corner with his carry-on bags, Yao turned his face away, hiding his expressions from the rest of the group.

His hands wiped at his cheeks discreetly.

Matthew wanted to ask Yao why he refused to go to Russia with Ivan, since it was obvious how much it hurt him to see the Russian go, but didn't dare to after seeing what happened at the airport. Telling himself that it was probably too abrupt of a decision, the Canadian wondered if Yao plans to perhaps go later on, though when "later on" was he was not sure of.

He gave his third sigh when Roderich, wearing an annoyed expression, walked over and crossed his arms across his chest.

"I do not pay you to mope, Mr. Williams." The Austrian stood perfectly straight, and looked quite menacing despite of being more of a refined type of person. "You have been wiping this table for the past five minutes."

His expression reminded Matthew of one of his high school teachers, who was quite strict, and intimidated most of the students enough to keep an impeccable level of good behaviour in his classes.

"I-I'm sorry." The strawberry blond head lowered.

"I had to _personally_ attend to a patron, who tried to get your attention _many times_," The slightly taller, slender man sniffed stiffly; "I have a concert on a very proximate date; I would appreciate it if I do not have to personally do things that can be easily done, especially since I already _employed_ someone to do them for me."

"-You have a concert?" Matthew looked up, surprised and taking in an excited gasp; he didn't catch Roderich's scolding sentences at all.

The brunette pursed his lips together; "Yes...You should know that I am a professionally trained pianist and this place technically belongs to my wife Elizabeta from the introduction I gave you on your first day of work, unless you _also_ happened to be _conveniently dazing off_ at that time as well."

Matthew winced at how biting and bitter the tone sounded, and lowered his head with a weak, embarrassed laugh. "Errrm…Yeah, I-I remember that; sorry…it just…slipped my mind for a second, eh…I…I had things on my mind…"

His boss didn't reply right away, and blinked.

After a lengthy, uncomfortable silence, the Canadian realized, with widening eyes, that Roderich's face was starting to redden as if flustered, or ashamed.

"I…I give you my…my sincerest condolences, Mr. Will—Matthew; it was insensitive of me to be unforgivably inconsiderate to your situation. I apologize." The brown-haired man gave a curt, dry cough into one of his hands, and looked away to a spot to the side.

"…Eh?" Matthew frowned, confused.

"…Your…Your auntie…I believe she was close to you…?" Dimly violet-tinted eyes flickered to his face for a brief moment before the Austrian looked away once more, appearing to be a little uncomfortable.

"…Oh!" Suddenly realizing what his boss was going on about, Matthew didn't know whether to laugh or cry; instead, he fidgeted and looked away as well. "Y-Yes, she—…she was…" He trailed off, honestly not knowing what else to say.

The atmosphere had grown extremely tense with awkwardness.

"W-Well, I hope-I hope all the…post-proceedings had been done with…?" Roderich stood up straighter, if that were possible, and wrapped his arms behind his back, and gave a brisk nod.

"Uh…huh!" Matthew nodded quickly, "Yeah we-we…laid her down to rest at her favourite wild flower field a few hours away from here." He felt a little bad at using Natalia's story to back up his lie, but couldn't think of anything else on the spot.

He'd already told Elizabeta an awfully vague story about his auntie Mary to fend off the good-hearted Hungarian's worried inquiries. When the kind woman was being a little too empathetic, Roderich had led her away, whispering to her about trespassing their roles as concerned employers.

Naturally, the last thing the Canadian expected was a similar talk with the same man who chided his wife for doing the same thing.

Roderich opened and closed his mouth a few times, each time growing infinitely more embarrassed at his fish-like antics. Finally clearing his throat and making up his mind, he spoke in a professional, but warm voice: "I am glad to hear you have taken the care to do that for her; I am sure she is content and restful at where she is, surrounded by soft fragrance of beautiful flowers and overlooking vast expanse of undisrupted, clear sky and grass fields."

Matthew blinked, wondering where the Austrian was thinking of.

"Ehhh…Th-Thanks, Roderich!" He said, giving a small smile, before suddenly startling at his casual address of his boss, especially since he was addressed as "Mr. Williams" at the start of their conversation; "I-I mean…Mr. Edelstein! …I-I'm so sorry—I shouldn't have just—"

"-No, it's fine, Matthew. I…I do not mind if you…if you…" The brunette shifted on his feet, looking to the side again as if distracted as his cheeks began to flush once more, "…if you were to—to call me by my given name…"

"…Oh! …O-Okay…" The Canadian gave a rather sloppy, silly grin, looking sheepish, and scratched the back of his head; "Um…thank you though…very much, for trying to comfort me." He straightened up his posture, and gave a sincere smile.

It was true; Roderich had lifted his sinking mood, and to that he was extremely grateful.

"You are very welcome, Matthew, and…I am very glad to have you with us, my wife and I; you are a hard worker, and we appreciate that greatly. I must admit, sometimes I tend to…become distracted by other matters while at work around the café, so you are a great help."

Matthew's eyes grew into saucers; did Roderich just compliment—

"-Well, ahem…" The poised man who was looking slightly rigid nodded once more, and, slowly, began to unwrap his arms from behind him and hold them out to the side shakily.

His face flamed crimson; his eyes never for once met Matthew's.

_What's he—_

…_Wait…_

_Is he—_

Were Matthew's thoughts before the Austrian's intentions became clear.

He was trying to offer a comforting hug!

Biting back amused laughter at how tense the brunette's posture was and how heated his face had become, Matthew opened his arms as well, and walked a little closer to the slightly taller man.

Stopping but a step away from Roderich, he leaned forward, and started to slowly envelop his arms around the slim frame.

He could practically feel the heat from his boss's cheeks; arms were starting to wrap around him as well.

Roderich gulped, eyes unblinking and wide, starting to lean forward to embrace the younger male.

They were inches away from a successful hug, when—

"Behold, pansy-ass bitches! The _AWESOME_ has arrived!"

~o0o0o0o0o~

Arthur sighed, looking down at the invitations on the table in front of him.

They were black with fancy, beautiful silver edgings and golden, italic writing, and were quite intricate and striking in appearance. However, to the British man, they were troublesome and, frankly, he'd much rather be not looking at them at the moment.

Beside the invitations was his cell phone.

Arthur groaned; he dreaded calling his father even more.

He could almost hear the old man's confused, somewhat condescending voice asking why it was so difficult for his son, who excelled in almost everything, to find a suitable person to go to the _Conference of Experimental Magick and Research_ with him.

The old man was confident that, since his son was above-average in looks by the conventional standards and had all the right qualities a respectable gentleman should have, Arthur would have no problem finding someone "significant" enough to accompany him to the event being held secretly in Great Britain every three years.

To put everything in simple words, the elder Kirkland, currently the head of one of the oldest families involved in the Occult around the world, had been revising an ancient ritual meant to allow restoration of chemical changes – in other words, changing ash back into a block of wood. Originally proposed by a wizard who was not quite right in the head some hundreds of years ago, the said ritual had always been a big question mark, and an extremely difficult and dangerous one to attempt to perform as well, since it was never chiseled down to perfection. The right balance of elements had never been found, neither were the right ingredients and exact proceedings of the complex, and awfully lengthy spell, but good old Uther Kirkland was confident that, after so many years of researching and testing, he had finally found the answer to one of the oldest "myths" in the history of the _Arts_.

Unfortunately, good old Uthur was bound by duty and stuck in a sticky case, and sadly admitted that he could not make it to the conference, which meant Arthur was sans a qualified partner.

Deciding that stalling was not a solution, the young Kirkland picked up his phone, and dialed a number he'd been calling and getting instructions from for the recent past months.

Heart pounding, much to his embarrassment, Arthur counted the dialing tone in an attempt at calming himself down.

"…Good evening." A click was heard before his father's deep voice answered through slight static.

"-Good evening, father." Arthur winced at how speedy his reply was, "How do you do?"

"Not too well, I'm afraid; my current case has turned for the worst."

_Damnit!_ Arthur cursed silently; that killed just about the last tiny bit of chance his father could make it after all.

"How are _you_ doing, Arthur? I hope the weather is better where you are." Elder Kirkland sighed.

"I'm…fine; what happened?" He knew he was stalling again, but, at the moment, that was all that mattered.

"We are currently caught in an unending rainstorm in a small village between the mountains. The roads are closed due to mudslides, and it's been blisteringly cold. Even if we were finished with this damned case that's already taking too long, we wouldn't be able to leave."

_Nope, definitely won't make it to the conference…_

"Oh…That's…unfortunate…" Arthur ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration as his fingers caught tangled strands.

"Indeed," the older man said dryly, "Enough about this mess, now, tell me, have you gotten everything you needed?"

Making a _big_ assumption that his father only meant the ingredients, Arthur nodded. When there was no reply, he winced and slapped himself.

_You're on the phone, you dimwit!_ He yelled at himself in his head.

"Y-Yes! Yes, I have everything I need." He said.

"Wonderful; at least _some_ things are going as planned…" Uthur sighed; "Who do you plan to take, Arthur? Have I met her before?"

Arthur stiffed in his seat and almost startled, thinking his father could somehow sense his thoughts.

He wouldn't put it past the old man, who was quite an accomplished and powerful wizard.

"…Errr…a-about that, father, I…I've been—I-I asked—…Well…" Arthur wanted to hide in a hole at how pathetic he sounded.

"Oh, please excuse me, have I met _him_ before?"

Arthur swore his cheeks were shinning like a red lantern in the dimly-lit room as his eyes grew round.

"-Wha—No! I mean—no there isn't—No!" He suddenly had the urge to throw the phone against the wall just so he could escape having to talk about it.

"What are you trying to say, Arthur? You can tell me." Uthur's voice became gentle and consoling, and that was what Arthur hated the most.

He knew his father was just worried, and genuinely wanted to offer him advice if he needed it, which was what was only normal for a father to do. But it was just that…whenever his father talked to him like that, he immediately reverted back into the status of a child, and that made him…unsure and insecure.

"I…I…" Humiliation and anger at what a certain American did when asked to accompany him to the conference returned full blast, mingled with shame he felt at how he couldn't even do something as simple as taking a willing person to go on a short vacation with him. But, underneath it all, though he would never admit it out loud, what hurt him the most was that—

…he thought, no, _believed_ that Alfred could look past those hideous things he refused to acknowledge and see _him_.

But _no_, that bloody git grinned in that infuriating manner of his and-and actually _patted them_…

Arthur growled.

What was he, a big joke?

He knew he should let it go, since he'd already somewhat made up with Alfred after the Natalia case, but, in truth, that injury never healed.

It ached similarly to the stab wound at odd times, as if in a twisted reminder of some sort, which was what prompted the most recent explosive fight to erupt between him and the American.

Matthew said there was nothing wrong with his eyebrows. Bonnefoy suggested different waxing techniques that would take care of them to great, lasting results. Yao discreetly dropped hints that he believed those fuzzy things were due to certain imbalances of energies within his body that could be solved by herbal remedies.

He didn't even know what Ivan thought of them; the Russian just stared at them with fascination.

However, as much as he hated his eyebrows, he hated the idea of getting rid of them even more.

It'd be as if he'd given in to all the ridicule and hardships and jibes meant to harm instead of humour he'd encountered since he was a child if he were to just…go out the easy, cowardly way.

It was insufferable pride and stupid stubbornness, he knew, and was hurting himself more than anyone else, but he just couldn't do it.

It'd be even more humiliating and perhaps put in the last stomp to fully kill off his self-esteem if he were to walk into a spa (or wherever one gets those treatments) and have them deal with those things.

He was a Kirkland, damnit!

"I…didn't find anyone suitable for the occasion, father. I'm very sorry." He thought he heard a small sigh of disappointment, but didn't know it was merely static and his imagination.

"Don't apologize; I am more at fault than you, suddenly unable to attend and asking you to find a 'significant other' by schedule." Uthur gave a small chuckle that was meant in good intentions to lighten the mood, but was taken wrongly by his son, who believed he'd let his father down. "I shouldn't have agreed to come along to this case, especially with the conference so near. But worry not, I am certain you will find that many of your friends will eagerly accept if you were to ask them to be your partner with great enthusiasm!" The older man said with a tone of encouragement, but Arthur grimaced.

Unbeknownst to elder Kirkland, the young man really didn't have any friends (except for his fairies), especially inside that circle, since he liked to keep to himself as a child (because his fairies will only come out when no one else was around) and was too mindful of his status, if not restrained by it. In an understatement, he didn't fit in well with those he considered as the intolerable lot, and reserved an especially biting sarcasm towards them.

"I still don't understand why you insist to not take Matthew with you." The statement was more of a question; Arthur pursed his lips simply to stop himself from blurting out that he didn't want his little cousin, who looked up to him, to find out how he really was not the Arthur who was sure and confident of himself no matter what that the younger blonde thought he was.

He didn't want Matthew to see his shortcomings.

Ever since they were young, he's always been the one who was strong; he cannot allow that to change, because it means too much to him.

After still moments of silence, Uther quickly spoke up and tried to ease the tensing atmosphere with a suggestion: "What about Andreas Thorne? He's a good sort of chap and likes you well enough."

Arthur blanched and almost retched out of disgust.

Also unbeknownst to elder Kirkland, Andreas Thorne, who pretty much grew up with Arthur due to the two families' closeness, made it his favourite pass time to pick ill fun and tyrannize "caterpillar face", despite the two of them having been good friends at one point.

The two can barely tolerate each other now, especially after—…

…Especially after that incident which ultimately led to what formed the scar hidden under his bushy brows from that time he tried to burn them off out of self-hatred.

It was almost nonexistent now, and barely an adequate enough reminder of how close he was to permanently disfiguring his face.

Just thinking about that git of a man made Arthur's stomach hurl, but, deciding he was going to be strong and proud, he replied to his father in what he hoped was a firm tone: "I will see, father. Don't worry; I have everything under control."

"Good." Uthur was satisfied with the answer. "How are things at the agency? I hope you already informed them about your departure."

Arthur paused.

"…Arthur?" the older man sounded a little suspicious; "You _have_ informed them, have you not? Mr. Jones is still your employer."

"…Yes, I have." He lied.

"They have no objections towards your leave then, I suppose?"

"No, father. They understand."

"Wonderful," It was more of a toss off than a glad exclaim; "Now, I must go over some aspects of the ritual in greater detail with you."

Quickly getting up to find pen and paper, Arthur decided that, if things called for it, he'll just have to do the ritual by himself, unimaginable danger be damned.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Frozen in midway of leaning in for a hug, Matthew, along with Roderich, stared with large eyes at the person that had just walked through the door.

The new arrival was tall, and had a pleasant, strong figure with lean limbs. His face was striking and had clean cut lines, features prominent, which emphasized his European roots, if his accent hadn't already done so already, though his manner of speaking contrasted strangely with it. He wore a wide, arrogant smirk that would've been extremely attractive if it weren't for how blatantly it was being displayed (Matthew could only see that smirk instead of how it looked on his face). He had a tall, sharp-lined nose, and high cheekbones. But what stuck out the most and was most odd were his bright, red eyes, glittering with life and mirth.

His hair was in a platinum mess of short, blond strands; it was pale enough to shine white on most parts. Wearing a dark blue, military-styled blazer with dark pants and combat boots, he struck an impressive pose at the door before addressing Matthew and Roderich with a crookedly lifted eyebrow; "Is my awesomeness too much for you?"

"…Ehh…" Matthew leaned away from the impending hug as Roderich hurriedly backed away to a respectable distance and cleared his throat.

"W-Would you like a table, sir?" The Canadian blinked curiously.

"A _table_ wouldn't be able to hold all of my awesomeness." The matter-of-fact way the tall, red-eyed man said that statement threw Matthew into a moment of speechlessness.

Thankfully, Roderich cut in, sending a dark glare at the newcomer, "Please ignore him, Matthew. He doesn't deserve to be treated with respect."

"Awwww, prissy-ass still hates me?" The smirk grew bigger, and the Austrian's expression grew darker.

"What are you doing here, Beilschmidt?"

Matthew was surprised at how cold and unfriendly his boss's tone of voice was, since the brunette has always been proper and polite, though a bit offstandish.

"I'm around town for a case, so I thought I should drop by, since you obviously need some awesome influence on you." Boots making thudding sounds on the floor, the pale-haired man strode in with confidence practically flashing into the room, waving a hand casually.

"A case?" The strawberry blond head jerked up a little in interest, but his small question was overshadowed as the Austrian's voice cut in louder.

"Neither I nor Elizabeta has a desire to see you, so please make a hasty leave. You are disturbing our patrons." Roderich actually sent a dirty look towards the approaching male, and turned on his heels in a snappy manner and started walking towards the door leading to the back of the shop.

"Oh good, then I can pay all my attention to—" The Canadian tensed as the taller man leaned closer to peer at his name tag, "-_Matthew_ over here. He seems much cooler than you anyways."

Matthew was almost flattered, but he rather liked Roderich, so he decided to be offended for the other man.

"Roderich is a _very_ cool person, eh!" The strawberry blonde huffed, hands propping up at his hips; "He makes great cakes, embroidered and sewed _all_ of the café's curtains, _and_ he can play the piano!"

There was a still silence before the red-eyed man, after a few moments of staring at Matthew with round eyes, burst out laughing, causing quite a ruckus.

A few of the café's customers looked up from their books and drinks with frowns of disapproval at the sudden, disruptive sound.

"…Eh-Ehhh?" Matthew, confused and taken back at the reaction, backed away a little in a slow motion.

Somewhere behind him, Roderich sighed; "…I appreciate your efforts, Matthew, but please, don't waste your breath defending me to this vulgar, idiotic man." In other words, shut up before you make me more of a pansy out of me. "And I do not wish to repeat myself, Beilschmidt; _leave at once_ or I_ will_ call Elizabeta—"

"-Man! Aren't you _something_!" The platinum-blonde, ignoring the brunette, patted the smaller Canadian on the shoulder with one hand, and held out the other for a shake, "Gilbert Beilschmidt's the name. Nice to meet you, little bird!"

"-L-Little bird—…" Sighing and thinking it could be worse, Matthew shook the hand gingerly, "I'm Matthew Williams. It's…nice to meet you too, I guess…"

" 'Course it's nice to meet me! I'm—"

"Yeah-Yeah, awesome, we get it…" Shaking his head and thinking that Gilbert was quite possibly even louder than Alfred, the shorter blonde cut in, "I work for Roderich, and I happen to like him a lot, so please don't make fun of him, eh?"

"Aww, man! Don't be like that, little bird!" Gilbert threw a hand up in the air carelessly, "It's just what we do; we're cousins after all."

"…_Cousins?_" It was quite impossible to believe that this…indescribable man could be related to the Austrian, who was the complete opposite.

"Yeah I know, hard to believe; 'cause he's a complete sop-ass pussy and I'm—"

"-Why do you dislike each other so much if you're so closely related then?" Matthew cut in before another "awesome" comment was made. In his personal experience, which was basically just Arthur's family, he'd gotten along fine with his relatives, or, at the very least, well enough to be cordially polite.

"He's just bitter 'cause I did this kick-ass dance at his wedding that wasn't part of the '_carefully planned program that must not be disrupted at any cost_'." Gilbert rolled his red eyes, "If you ask me he could use some loosening up."

The brunette, listening silently through the conversation, immediately bristled and flushed an angry shade of red. Temper flaring up in an instance, he pointed a finger at his cousin and shouted out in a crisp, cutting voice: "_You rubbed your nether regions all over my bride!_"

All the patrons in the café looked up, now all curiously astonished at the statement instead of disapproving.

"And she enjoyed it too." Gilbert retorted.

Roderich, gasping loudly, started to shake as fury made his face completely red; "YOU-YOU—" It was quite alarming and scary how the Austrian looked.

"What? You want me to do the same to you?" A wicked grin split Gilbert's face as his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"-YOU INSOLENT, IMPUDENT, ABOMINABLE—"

"_-Mon petit chaton le plus adorable!_" A new voice suddenly cut in; "Look what I brought you!"

Roderich coughed and swallowed down his forthcoming screamed insults.

Instantly recognizing the voice, Matthew's eyes glanced briefly at the clock on the wall.

It was the end of his shift for the day already!

"Francis!" The Canadian, ecstatic smile brightening his expressions, caught sight of the Frenchman from behind Gilbert and was just going to run over for a hug when he realized something strange.

The longer-haired blonde was frozen on his spot, arms half-raised in anticipation for an embrace, one hand holding a small, pretty plastic box of what looked like desserts as his face wore the definition of shock, ocean-blue eyes round and unblinking.

They looked into Gilbert's red ones, which looked equally as surprised.

"…_Gilbert…?_" He slowly whispered, blinking, a strand of long, curled golden hair falling in a cascading motion from behind one of his ears, though he took no notice.

Gilbert, getting over his shock, growled darkly; "_…Bonnefoy._"

Francis actually winced a little, and, clearing his throat, he regained his posture and gave a small, half-genuine smile; "_Cher ami…que fais-tu ici?_"

"What, _no hello_?" The pale-haired one almost spat out.

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the two. Animosity was growing, though it was only one-sided. Gilbert looked downright frightening with his sharp features and grimace of great displeasure while Francis appeared to be trying hard to ignore it and plaster on a friendly smile, though it faltered shakily.

Roderich, temporarily forgetting about his cousin's rude comments, grew worried that the red-eyed one was going to start trouble. He cautiously walked closer to the group, eyes slightly narrowed and alert should anyone make a violent move.

Not that he could do much if Gilbert _really_ wanted a fight, but it was his duty as one of the owners of the little café to at least do _something_.

Matthew, eyes flickering back and forth between Francis and Gilbert, could only watch, perplexed at the development.

"…You know of Mr. Bonnefoy?" Roderich, addressing his cousin, voiced the Canadian's question.

"Yeah…I know of _him_ alright…" Red eyes narrowing menacingly, the man looked quite dangerous. "Didn't think you'd see me here, did you?" He gave a small jerk of his chin towards the Frenchman, who began to look defensive.

"_Non…certainement pas._" Francis shook his head, more shimmering strands of hair falling over his face, but this time he lifted a hand to tuck them back behind his ear, making an unconsciously attractive gesture despite of his expression. It seemed to humourlessly amuse Gilbert, who began to chuckle darkly.

"Still the same, huh? …Charming your way into little boys' pants, you French fucker."

There was unison of gasps from Matthew and Roderich out of dismay at the harsh words. Francis took in a sharp breath through his nose, and squeezed his eyes shut as if stung, head tilting to the side abruptly.

"Gilbert!" Matthew exclaimed, more hurt than offended, "How could you say that?"

"Shut up, Matthew. You know no _shit_ about this man!" Voice rising alarmingly quickly in volume, the Canadian was surprised when the taller male actually grabbed onto his arm and shielded him from his lover.

Francis, obviously not wanting his little Matthieu to hear this or get tangled into this mess, placed a pleading, but firm gaze onto his once close friend, and spoke in a low voice: "_Gildert, s'il te plaît…J'étais jeune et fou. Je me suis trompé et je suis désolé! Mais_—" He bit back his words, and forced out a sigh. "…_Parlons de ça seuls, pas devant Matthieu._"

"Why? He deserves to know." Gilbert sent a suspicious glare at the Frenchman.

"_Oui,_" Francis nodded quickly, eyes never leaving the red ones opposite of his; "_Je lui dirai – je te le promets; mais pas maintenant._" He paused, taking a deep breath and gaze softening into a tender plea. "_Je l'aime, Gilbert._" There was a silence as Gilbert's expression seemed to waver from harshness; "_Le plus cher ami, je ne mens pas._"

Gilbert stared hard into Francis' eyes, and growled; "I have _nothing_ to say to _you._"

Matthew, despite being extremely curious and not to mention worried over what was being said (at least from what he could understand anyways), did not ask. Letting out a small breath of relief as the strong fingers around his arm loosened, he jumped a little when red eyes suddenly turned to him.

"I like you, little bird. If that fucker ever tries anything funny, let me know. If you can't get a hold of me, tell sissy over there and he'll figure out a way to find me." Matthew wasn't sure how he _was_ going to find Gilbert in the first place, without phone number and all, but only nodded obediently. He didn't think he'd need to do that anyways, since there was no way Francis would ever hurt him.

Satisfied with the nod, the platinum-haired man let the strawberry blonde go, and watched with slight displeasure as the adorable little thing scooted towards the French bastard and snuggled into a hug.

Francis, visibly relieved, let out a deep sigh and gave Matthew a firm kiss, heart pounding with gratitude at how much the Canadian trusted him, but at the same time, shaken because of it.

Gilbert grimaced and turned away as if sickened at the mushy sight, but, Roderich, watching from his spot, noted, with slight wonder, a glint of sadness mixed with something he couldn't quite decipher in the pale-haired man's eyes. He was so fascinated with his cousin's uncharacteristic behaviours he completely forgot about the rude man's crude remarks and did not notice at all the patrons on-looking the scene.

Matthew, uncomfortable with the awkward atmosphere, quickly went to get his things and bid his boss a warm farewell, promising to stop dazing off in the future.

As he tugged Francis behind him out of the door, waving at Roderich and Gilbert, the Frenchman turned to look back at his once good friend.

Catching red eyes, he said before disappearing behind the door, tone honest and eyes slightly pained:

"_Je suis vraiment désolé, Gilbert. Ce n'était pas mon intention de vous faire du mal à toi et ton frère._"

~o0o0o0o0o~

The car ride was extremely awkward and uncomfortable. Francis did not speak, and Matthew did not know what to say, so the two remained silent.

Looking down at the small box of desserts, the Canadian decided to break the silence; "Francis…shouldn't we—…shouldn't we find some place to eat these? You wouldn't want crumbs all over your car seats, eh?" Crepes don't really leave crumbs, but he needed a reason and that was the first one he could think of.

The Frenchman seemed to startle a little at his sudden suggestion, and, sending him a somewhat forced smile, eyes still showing preoccupied thoughts, he nodded, "…Where would you like to go?"

Shrugging, the Canadian looked out the car window.

The sky was darkening; days were shorter. Street lamps were yet on; sunlight no longer bestowed the streets with vibrant colours. Everything wore a cool shade of blueish gray, and Matthew missed home.

"Is there…a place with grass fields and tall trees close by?" He said, voice small but hopeful.

"I will take you there, _mon amour_."

With that, the car swerved around a corner and drove off with a new destination in mind.

After ten minutes or so, they arrived at a big park. Tall trees were dominated by red and orange hues, reaching high towards the sky, long, black limbs stark against the softer tones of their surroundings. Patches of grass were visible, but partly hidden under layers of fallen leaves. When the wind blew, they fluttered, and looked like moving mosaic.

After finding parking space for the car, the two made their way up a small hill, following a walkway. It was quite chilly, especially when the wind blew. Matthew quickly buttoned his coat all the way to the topmost button, and wrapped his scarf more snuggly around his neck. Hiding his bare hands into long sleeves, he wished he hadn't forgotten to bring his gloves when he left home in the morning.

"Let me hold that, Matthieu; you can put your hands into your pockets that way." Reaching a hand to take the dessert box, Francis gave a warm smile.

"Okay." Matthew smiled back, though it was partly hidden behind his scarf as he nuzzled against it (a habit he must've picked up from Ivan). Handing the box over as instructed, he stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, fingers curling appreciatively as the cold no longer tormented them. "_Merci_, Francis."

The Frenchman gave him an appreciative smile at the French word, deep ocean-blue eyes shimmering a little; it was brief, but made warmth swell inside his heart.

Feeling a little sheepishly flushed, he looked to the side, and suddenly recognized where they were.

"This is-This is where Giselle started singing in 'Enchanted'!" Taking a small, pleasantly surprised gasp, the Canadian halted in his tracks and looked over the lake, clear and still, its mirror-like surface only disrupted when the wind created little ripples in it. "I almost didn't recognize it!" Matthew jogged a few paces forward towards the edge of the lake, looking over the scenery with a soft, dreamy sigh.

"It looks different every season." Francis followed after the excited blonde, voice in a small murmur.

An idea suddenly popped into Matthew's head, though he was not sure if he had enough courage to carry it out. Tilting his head slightly, he carefully sent a few glances towards the Frenchman, who stood a little to the side behind him. The taller man had his arms limp at his sides, still and eyes looking faraway, thoughtful and glazed; a small smile adorned his lips, but it looked more habitual than actual contentment.

The Canadian blinked, and, not wanting to see such a blank and almost melancholic expression, made up his mind in an instance.

Turning fully towards Francis, he took his hands from his pockets and, posing in a way of what he remembered of Giselle doing in the movie, he opened his lips:

"_How does she knooooow yooou love heeeerr?_"

Francis startled, or, rather, froze in his posture, eyes darting towards the strawberry blonde, who looked up at him with large, watery blue eyes and hands held in a delicate, feminine manner.

"_How does she knooooow she's yoooooours~~?_" At the last long note, Matthew held his hands and slowly parted them in a smooth motion to one side.

There was a pause as the taller of the two simply stared, surprised and almost disbelieving if what he'd just saw actually happened.

The couple stared at each other, and the shorter one gave a shy smile, cheeks slightly pink.

Francis, blinking rapidly as if still in disbelief, gave a few small laughs. "…Matthieu! I didn't know—…you sang beautifully!" Disbelief quickly dissipating into amazement, the Frenchman held his arms up as if in exclamation, a familiar, bright smile back on his face, eyes sparkling in admiration.

"No I didn't…" Lips puckering up, the smaller man sent a look of doubt up towards the happy face.

A few people in the proximity clapped, having turned to look as they heard singing, and Matthew blushed, nodding a little as thanks and rubbing the back of his head embarrassedly.

"They think you did, as do I." Francis, grin softening into an affectionate smile, idly reached out and tucked a few strands of fallen hair behind one of Matthew's ears in an adoring gesture.

"_Merci beaucoup…_" Face flushing redder, but smile widening, the Canadian spoke in a soft voice: "I'm glad you're smiling again, eh…You looked like you were feeling down, so I thought it might cheer you up."

Francis blinked, eyes widening a little; "_Chéri…_"

"Come on, let's find a bench and eat the crepes! I'm very hungry." Flashing a bright smile, Matthew grabbed onto the Frenchman's hand and, half skipping down the walkway, tugged the taller man after.

As he was turned, chattering on about maple-flavoured muffins, he did not see the thankful, loving smile sent his way from the older male gladly following him.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Not long after, they found a nice, sturdy bench in an area populated by only a very few number of people, and sat down.

Opening the box and chuckling at how the strawberry blonde's eyes immediately lit up, Francis took out a carefully wrapped crepe, and handed it to the eager Canadian.

Taking a bite, Matthew sighed in pleasure; "_Oooooooh_, this is so good!" Swallowing, he quickly took more bites, licking his lips absentmindedly.

Francis watched, unblinking. His own crepe was raised by a hand stalled halfway to his mouth, which hung open very slightly.

The pointed tip of the pink tongue fleeted out and disappeared behind soft lips as if in a timid, shy manner, making small, sweeping motions, sometimes poking out from corners of Matthew's mouth. The young man took a particularly large bite, and whipped cream oozed out a little from the sides of the triangularly wrapped dessert. Tilting his face down, the Canadian stuck out his tongue, and swept the fluffy, sweet goodness into his mouth, humming appreciatively.

"-Francis, do you think people put maple syrup in these?" Enthusiastic with the idea, Matthew turned with a beaming smile, but blinked as the man sitting beside him only stared at his mouth with slightly rounded eyes, cheeks looking slightly crimson.

"…Francis? Are you cold?" He assumed a completely different reason for the red cheeks.

Suddenly feeling exceptionally _warm_, Francis closed his mouth, and made a slow blink. Swallowing, he leaned forward a little: "_…P-Pardon?_" The Frenchman actually looked a little flustered, giving a shaky smile.

Surprised that Francis, who was always attentive, missed something he said, Matthew frowned; it grew deeper when he noticed something else: "You didn't take a single bite of your crepe!"

"-Oh…" Francis, looking back and forth between his crepe and Matthew's sparkling eyes, lifted his hand and took a bite of the dessert.

Matthew smiled, though, as he spoke, his voice held a worried tone, "You seem a little out of it today, eh? What's on your mind?"

"Perhaps I _am_ a little under the weather today," The Frenchman, swallowing and looking down at the crepe in his hand as if in inspection, answered in a low murmur.

Unconvinced, the younger man replied, "Or perhaps it is because of unexpectedly meeting an old friend."

Francis glanced at the Canadian, but did not speak.

"You know, Francis," Sitting up straighter, Matthew scooted closer to the older male; "I can help you and listen if you have troubles in you life too, eh? I mean…You don't have to tell me right away, but I just…I just wanted you to know that…"

Long hair partially fallen over handsome features, the Frenchman tilted his head towards the one sitting close to him, eyes pensive and somewhat evasive, though it held just as much captivating allure as always.

He smiled, and nodded.

Matthew smiled as well, and returned the nod with a little one of his own.

"Good!" Gently tapping his crepe against Francis' as if in a toast, he gave a happy grin; "Cheers!" And took a bite.

Chuckling, the taller man returned his exclaim with a "_Santé!_", and was just about to bite into his own crepe when he noticed Matthew scrambling to catch a large daub of whipped cream smeared on the corner of his lips from falling.

As if by reflex, ocean blue eyes darkening with simmering desire, Francis pulled the Canadian towards him with his vacant hand, and kissed him, tongue carefully sweeping the sugary, white fluff.

It was sweet, but made infinitely sweeter taken from his little Matthieu's soft lips.

The strawberry blonde tensed and let out a cute little squeak, eyes wide as saucers and face red as tomatoes. His lips quivered open a little, and the Frenchman slipped his tongue inside, a low moan rumbling from his chest.

It was hot.

Matthew gasped, eyelashes fluttering before eyelids blinked to a close. His hand not holding his crepe reached forward, and found Francis' coat. Fingers grasping around the thick fabric, he pulled the other man closer; head tilting to the side, he opened his lips further apart, and gingerly flicked his tongue against the one sensually and firmly moving against his own.

That little gesture seemed to excite the Frenchman; Matthew felt the strong arm pulling him forward wrapping tighter around his waist, and moaned as the kiss deepened. Tongues embracing in a slow, hypnotic dance, sensuous and intoxicating, heat began to spread from deep inside his core outwards. He was touching ecstasy, but, at the same time, it was almost torturous. The contradictory combination left his body sensitive and tingling. Breaths became huffed, and he felt a need for something more.

"-F-Francis—" His scarf fell open.

Plea cut off by a moan, he bit back a soft whine as the Frenchman tilted his head and trailed butterfly kisses along his jaw, before moving onto his neck, nibbling and making love to the pale, warm skin smooth as silk. As much as he loved the crepe, Matthew began to wish it didn't have to take up one of each of their hands.

Francis smirked against the long, swan-like neck, and gave a kiss on top of the pounding pulse he felt there. Letting out a deep-throated moan himself, he flicked out his tongue and licked at some of the tiny, red bite marks he left on the Canadian. Feeling a tremble shake through the slender body he held with one arm, he knew, instantly, that he had just found one of the spots he should pay extra attention to.

Matthew almost whimpered as a firmer kiss was placed at that particular spot that made his body quiver in pleasure. Biting his lips, eyes squeezed shut, he called softly the name of the man who made him feel like never before:

"…Francis…_Ooooohhh_—Francis…Francis…_s'il te plaît…!"_

The French plea, whispered so sweetly from his little Matthieu's lips, brought a wave of euphoria; it washed over his body in heat, and he shivered, taking in a shaky, deep gasp, lips brushing feather touches across warm skin as his eyes squeezed shut in a moment of rising desire.

_... Oh mon Dieu... Oh mon Dieu…_

All logic thrown aside, he lunged forward, shifting his position to once more capture the younger male in a bruising kiss, and made to climb on top of the mewling Canadian.

The fingers wrapped around a barely eaten crepe loosened.

It dropped from his hand.

There was a light but distinct squashing splatter as the dessert fell.

Both men jolted, kiss broken as they stared at each other, wondering what that noise was.

It took them a few long seconds to realize that it was Francis' crepe, which was now lying comfortably in the Frenchman's lap, dangerously close to his crotch.

Matthew stared, mouth agape, quite avidly at it, and Francis winced, actually embarrassed.

"…Oh no! Francis! Your crepe!" The hand clenched around Francis' coat reaching to cover his opened lips, the Canadian cried out, eyebrows furrowing in dismay.

"-It's alright—"

"-But it's going to stain your pants—" Without thinking, Matthew shot out a hand to get the sweet treat. Francis startled at the sudden movement, and jumped a little in his position.

The Canadian's hand then completely missed the sugary goodness as it fell to the ground, and grabbed the Frenchman in the crotch.

There was a horrified moment as the two froze, stiff and unmoving.

"…O-OH MY GOD!" Matthew would've dived under the bench to hide if it weren't for Francis' arm still tightly wrapped around his waist; "I-I'M SO SORRY! OH GOD!" He immediately took his hand back, curling up and turning to the side so that he could cover his horribly red face. He could've sworn it was hot enough to melt anything it came in contact with.

Francis blinked, still unsure of what to do. It wasn't that he minded his little Matthieu touching him there, but this was hardly how he thought it was going to happen.

Looking down at the smaller man still blurting out apologies and exclaims of shock and embarrassment, he decided to cut in before Matthew became too upset.

"-Matthieu, it's okay."

"NO IT'S NOT! I-I JUST GRABBED YOU—"

"-_Matthieu_." At the firmer tone, the strawberry blonde stopped spluttering; "Don't worry yourself, _oui_? It was an accident, a shocking one might I add, but not unpleasant."

The Canadian gave a small sniffle, but slowly turned his head from his curled up position, shyly looking up at him with wide, sparkling blue eyes slightly wet with embarrassed tears, cheeks still flushed, biting his lips hesitantly.

_Holy sweet mother of God_ – Francis had to visibly fight down the overwhelming urge to ravish the younger male who was too adorable for his own good right in front of him.

"…R-Really…?" Matthew whimpered out. His voice was so miserable and small…

"_Oui, Matthieu…"_ Francis didn't trust himself to say anything else, and wrapped both arms around the Canadian. He gave a kiss to the smaller male's forehead, his cute, perky little nose, and then the pair of enrapturing lips. "I wouldn't have imagined it any other way."

"…You're lying." Matthew grumbled, lips puckering up slightly.

The Frenchman laughed a little; "You're right; I imagined it to involve a lot less clothes."

The one in his arms squirmed, muttering something incoherent, but sent hopeful little glances up towards him. Chuckling, Francis gave him another small peck, "You should finish your crepe, _mon chéri_. It's getting quite dark and chilly now; we should go. I will take you to proper dinner."

Nodding, Matthew sat up properly and held his crepe with both hands, munching quickly. The Frenchman picked up his own fallen one from the ground, and threw it into a nearby garbage can. Taking a tissue that came with the dessert, he had just finished wiping clean his pants the best he could when the Canadian finished eating, humming appreciatively.

Truth be told, Matthew wasn't that hungry anymore after the crepe, but he knew Francis must be since he barely ate anything at all. He remembered the taller blonde mention something about wanting to try that new French restaurant that just opened a little while ago, so he gladly followed the older male, hands wrapping around a strong arm as he leaned close, almost nuzzling.

The kiss was still fresh in his memory, and he hid a small smile, cheeks turning slightly pink.

_It was so wonderful..._He thought, unknowingly nibbling on his lips; sighing softly and dreamily, he looked up at Francis, clear, crystal-like eyes beaming with affection.

_Francis is so wonderful…!_

The Frenchman caught the look, and gave an equally affectionate smile back.

The car eventually came into view, and, as they drew closer, Francis took out the key and unlocked its doors, opening the passenger door for Matthew, who thanked him by stepping onto tip toes and giving his cheek a kiss before settling in.

Hopping into the driver's seat, the car drove off into busy downtown New York which never slept.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:** Wow…there were so many passages of French I really wouldn't be surprised if there were a lot of mistakes. PLEASE CORRECT ME IF THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG! D:

(-Edit- Many thanks to _Stella Solaris_ for the corrections, and _radioactive edelweiss_ for suggestions as well! :D)

_Mon petit chaton le plus adorable!_ – My most adorable little kitten.

_Cher ami…que fais-tu ici? _– Dear friend…what are you doing here?

_Non…certainement pas._ – No…certainly not.

_Gildert, s'il te plaît…J'étais jeune et fou. Je me suis trompé et je suis désolé! Mais_—…_Parlons de ça seuls, pas devant Matthieu. _– Gilbert, please…I was young and stupid. I made a mistake and I am sorry! But—…Let us speak about this alone, not in front of Matthew.

_Je lui dirai – je te le promets; mais pas maintenant._ – I shall say to him/I will tell him – I promise; but now's not the time.

_Je l'aime, Gilbert._ _Le plus cher ami, je ne mens pas._ – I love him, Gilbert. Dearest friend, I do not lie/I'm not lying.

_Je suis vraiment désolé, Gilbert. Ce n'était pas mon intention de vous faire du mal à toi et ton frère. _– I am very sorry, Gilbert. It has never been my intentions to hurt you or your brother.

_Santé!_ – Cheers! (I did a little research and this is what I found; hopefully it's right.)

**Ending Notes: **_Warning: VERY LONG._

I wanted to write in more detail of Ivan at the airport, but I didn't want to write any more sad scenes till the next chapter, so…yeah. …Though I had the strongest urge to write Matthew and Ivan going out to buy balloons…

Poor Roderich, trying so hard to give a hug and finally almost succeeding and then BAM, Gilbert comes into the picture and gets in the way. I might be the only one, but I _love_ how Gilbert gave Mattie the nickname "little bird". 8D And I have yet found a way to incorporate Gilbird into the story, but I do have a thread of an idea that I'm trying to work out. –crosses fingers–

I bet y'all weren't expecting such a confrontation between Francis and Mr. Awesome, eh? With the whole "French fucker" thing. ;p I actually enjoyed writing that part; does that make me a bad person? Bleh, you'll know exactly why Gilbert acted the way he did in the forth case, and yes, it does have something to do with Ludwig. –wink wink–

For some reasons – This is _completely unintentional_! I swear! –, as I was reading through the chapter, it felt like Uther was trying to set his son up with Alfred! I mean, first he sends his son off to New York and then tells him to find a "significant other" to go to the Conference with…I mean, come ON.

…_Ooooh_ _yeeeaah_~~ Arthur's old man _totally_ ships USUK…AHAHAHAHAHA man that's so wrong. XD

Or he could've meant for Arthur to ask someone he already knows to go with him or something…which would make more sense I guess…than the reason above. LOL

Heeeey, remember how, at the beginning of the last case, Matthew and co. were wondering what Arthur was up to, getting phone calls from overseas and sometimes "disappearing"; now you know! He was preparing for the ritual! I bet y'all thought I forgot about it. ;)

I gotta admit…I _love_ writing tragic characters that has good lives but has had horrible things happen to them, BUT are still striving to live and trying their best to not let those bad things get in the way of what they do. It's just very inspiring to me I guess, 'cause no one's life is easy, but you still gotta do what you gotta do, you know? The reason they all kinda ended up meeting each other is 'cause I seriously am a strong believer that people who had similar life experiences (as different as those actual experiences might be) all eventually end up somehow finding each other, like…A HUGE MAGNET! :D

…or something.

Hopefully I justified Arthur's intense loathing towards his eyebrows enough, if not…errr…sorry about that. XD You'd have to wait till later on when that hinted incident (with the whole trying to burn them off thing) is further elaborated on.

ENCHANTED IS ONE OF THE MOST AWESOMEST MOVIES EVER! …_As if_ you weren't expecting that when they went to central park. XD I honestly think Matthew's the type that'd love a movie like that, or it could just be me making random assumptions. Sorry if it's cheesy, but I just love that damn movie a little too much. –hearts–

For some reasons Microsoft Word eats the accent on "crepe", and I got too lazy to go back and fix it 'cause that word reoccurs many times. Sorry about that too! D:

I know; I know. I promised more developments between side pairings, but there hasn't been much Francis/Matthew moments in the last case, and they are the main pairing after all, so I thought I should write some action between them…before it was interrupted by crotch-grabbing (AHAHAHA! –dodges tomatoes–).

Anyways, next chapter will contain more developments, along with another nasty surprise (Shut up you love me 8D –is smacked–), and the chapter after the next will officially be the start of the third case! For now, keep guessing where they're gonna go, darlings! I'll give you another hint: The third case is actually forwarded from one of the team member's father.

And now…**CHRISTMAS SPECIAL**! (I know I haven't mentioned anything, so…uhhh…surprise…? XD)

I originally was gonna do something else, but then I decided that I wanted to write more Ivan 'cause he isn't gonna be appearing much for the next little while, which makes me sad but…it has to happen. ;_;

SO, I decided to write about our favourite Russian's adventures when he was younger (like when he's 16 or something) of sneaking a Xmas tree from the market where he worked to his sisters at home! 8D (But all the team members will be making an appearance of course)

AND since the 24th happens to be on Thursday, I'm thinking to either update the next chapter earlier in the week (though it'd be very hard with all the holiday planning I still haven't done…) OR the weekend after Christmas. But either way, I'll be posting the Christmas special on the 24th!

Anyways, before I bid thee adieu: Question of the Day—!

_If you were to get (realistic) presents for the members of the Agency, what would you get?_ :D


	18. Christmas Special

**Author's Notes:** MERRY CHRISTMAS Y'ALL! :D

I really hope you enjoy this special; it's much happier than the Halloween one I think.

_**IMPORTANT NOTE:**_ Since I have no idea when this all happens in the story, please see this as _**separate**_ from the actual storyline but just with the same characters or something. XD

Anyways, _please enjoy, darlings_! –hearts–

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

_Holiday Supermarket Adventures_

"What the hell, Francis," Alfred stood completely still, staring at the overhanging sign of the building he was about to enter with gawking, disbelieving eyes, "You're gonna buy Mattie a present in a _supermarket_?"

Francis rolled his eyes, but stopped in his steps. Turning around, he spoke in a patient tone:

"This trip is only for purchasing ingredients for _part_ of the present, _cher ami_, which is the delicious dinner I will cook for _mon petit Matthieu_ when he comes to my apartment where he will spend the night," Lowering his voice to a soft murmur, he grumbled under his breath with slight exasperation: "You have no idea how difficult it was to convince stubborn eyebrows to let that happen…"

"…You're gonna cook." The American paused a little; "That's it?"

"_Mais non_; the best part is _after_ the dinner: I plan to give him the best present one can ever receive in the entire world!" With a flair of a wrist, the Frenchman dramatically flung his silky, softly waved hair back and opened his arms wide to the side, announcing proudly:

"_Moi!_"

Silence followed his exclaims.

"…Uhhhh…right…" Alfred blinked slowly; "Then…what are _you_ doing here?" Turning his eyes to the tall man standing beside Francis, he gave a confused frown; "Are you gonna cook too?"

"Da~~!" Ivan's answer was so enthusiastic that it was almost a cheer; his eyes were beaming with happiness. "Yao will be coming to my new place, so I will make Yao yummy food!"

"Is that all you're making him?"

"нет~" Shaking his head and pale blond hair flopping side to side, the Russian also looked quite proud of what he came up with; "It is special, because Yao is special, but it is a secret, so I won't tell you."

"…Aw _maaan_," The American groaned, kicking a small, innocent rock by his feet dejectedly, "How come it's so easy for you guys to come up with presents? It's so not fair! …What can _I_ make Arthur? _Scones?_"

"The only reason it is easier for us is because Arthur is difficult, Alfred." The matter-of-fact tone Francis used for his statement didn't make his friend feel better in the least.

"Yeah, whatever, let's just get this over with…" Nudging the two aside and wearing a troubled pout, the messy-haired blonde walked into the supermarket, though he didn't really look expectant to their shopping trip at all.

The other two followed, feeling a little sorry for their pouting friend.

"You can get him a nice box of top-quality tea, or a book; I'm sure either of those would please him, _non_?" Francis suggested with a slight tilt of head, stalling in his steps, as the tallest of the three went off to get a shopping cart.

"A _book_?" The look Alfred threw him made him chuckle; "Well…I guess he _would _like those things, but he can just get them himself, can't he? Besides, I want my present to him to be something…_epic_."

Ivan, having rejoined them from getting a shopping cart and catching a bit of their conversation, gave a thoughtful hum.

"You can get him a fairy tale book, da? He likes fairies right?" Voice half-muffled by his scarf, the tall man said, round eyes blinking and pale eyelashes fluttering.

"Isn't he too old for—" What began as a somewhat whined decline abruptly hit a stop; Alfred gasped, and snapped his fingers, vibrant blue eyes lighting up as an idea hit him. "Oh my God, Ivan, you're a genius!"

"Yay~…?" The Russian exclaimed, but sounded more confused.

"No, seriously, you are! I have the _perfect_ idea!"

Francis sincerely hoped that this wasn't one of those perfect ideas that resulted in the demise of more innocent teacups.

"Look, I gotta run; I'll catch y'all later or somethin', yeah?" Barely able to contain his sudden giddy excitement, the American gave a wave and ran off without further explanations. "This is gonna be the most awesome Christmas ever!" The remaining two heard before the blonde head disappeared into a crowd of shoppers.

"_Je suis préoccupé pour lui…_" Francis murmured, shaking his head, though a little amused and undoubtedly curious of what the American came up with.

"Da…" Ivan answered, eyes still seemingly following Alfred's form through the crowd.

The Frenchman turned, and was just going to suggest the two of them to start shopping when something caught his eyes.

It wasn't quite some_thing_, or rather, something _about_ his tall friend.

The Russian's pale eyebrows were slightly furrowed in mild concern as he absentmindedly rubbed his chin against his soft, fluffy-looking scarf in small nuzzles. His large eyes held a small shimmer, clear orbs like gemstones. He seemed to be almost unaware of how he was nibbling on the inside of his downer lip, which was nicely pink as was its upper companion, forming a tiny pout. But that was not what caught Francis' attention.

His cheeks were flushed a pleasant shade of soft red, either from the cold outside or from the abrupt temperature change from coming into a much warmer place Francis did not know. They were slightly puffing up from his nibbling action, which made them look round and supple…and…awfully tempting for—

"Ivan."

"Da?" Upon hearing his name, he was jolted out of his moment of thought. Tilting his head to the side, he looked at the Frenchman, the scarf shifting around his shoulders a little.

"May I…_do_ something to you?" Voice in a low, smooth timber as though sweet, French wine, Francis had one of his arms wrapped around the front of his chest while the other was propped up, looking at him with a strange glitter in his deep, ocean-blue eyes. Slowly twirling a few strands of silky, blond hair with the hand on the arm being propped up, he wore an almost amused expression, lips tilting upwards mischievously, and unknowingly (at least that's what it appeared to Ivan) struck a rather attractive pose.

"…What is it?" The Russian blinked, curious, and asked.

"You can see it…as an early Christmas present if you like, _mon ami_," With a small shrug, the Frenchman took a few steps forward, small smile pulling wider into an almost leer. "Come a little closer." He beckoned with his hands, and spoke as if sharing a secret.

Curiosity growing tenfold in seconds, the taller man scooted closer, eyes wide and wondering, and leaned forward.

Francis' eyebrows jerked a little, and, biting back a mischievous, wicked grin, he immediately shot out his hands and caught Ivan's cheeks with his fingers.

"Wha—" The Russian jumped, eyes flying open even wider.

Francis took no time to stall, and gave the cheeks he caught a squeeze.

"**-нет—!**" Crying out in startle, Ivan swatted at the hands pinching his cheeks, the protest so loud that several bystanders turned to see what was going on.

Laughing, the Frenchman finally let go after a few moments, secretly extremely glad that the Russian didn't swat nearly half as hard as he could've (judging from what he'd seen the tall man do during the more…violent portions of exorcisms).

"That was the worst Christmas present ever!" Rubbing his cheeks, Ivan cried out once more, and, pursing his lips, tried to glower, though the effect was dimmed by how he was backing away from the other man while watching him apprehensively as if expecting another "attack".

"_Je suis désolé,_" Francis didn't look sorry at all as he continued to discreetly snicker; "It was a joke, only a joke, _mon cher_; no harm done, _hmmm_?"

Staring in incredulousness at the man who randomly decided to abuse his poor cheeks, Ivan gave a curt "hmph" and turned on his feet.

"I'm not talking to you anymore!" Without another word, he walked off.

"Oh come now, Ivan!" Still definitely amused and infinitely satisfied that he got what he wanted, the Frenchman called out to the tall form half-stomping away, wearing a grin on his handsome face. Brushing a hand through shimmering golden hair, he gave a last chuckle, and started to catch up to his friend, remembering to push the cart along.

"…Are you still angry?"

There was no response as the Russian merely looked intently forward.

"I can buy you a bottle of vodka to make it up to you," Francis cooed gently, putting on his most dazzling and heartwarming smile; "Would you like that?"

There was a quiver on one of the corners of Ivan's lips, and violet eyes gave him a fleeting, quick glance.

Francis continued to smile, peering over.

After a small while of silence, he finally succeeded as Ivan's façade of displeasure broke into a held-back smile.

"…_Two_ bottles of vodka, da? …And sunflowers."

Francis laughed good-humouredly, and gave his back a pat.

"Anything for you, _mon cher ami_!"

~o0o0o0o0o~

A distance away, sitting comfortably in a small café, Matthew and Yao stared with wide eyes at the bushy-eye-browed Brit in front of them.

"…You're going to rent an _entire McDonald's_?" The Canadian asked, unblinking, shock evident on every part of his face.

"Yes, of course," Looking a little uncomfortable at being gawked at, Arthur gave his tea a sip and spoke in a crisp manner, "I can't stand messy little children screaming and running around in proximity to me, which is what happened last time Alfred somehow managed to convince me to go to such a…ridiculously furnished place, so I thought I should simply rent the entire thing for a few hours to solve that problem – good riddance."

It seemed that his reason didn't convince the two across from him in the least.

"I…didn't even know it was possible to do that, aru…It must cost a lot of money to rent it," Yao seemed to have finally snapped out of his moment of speechlessness.

"Alfred _worships_ that place," Arthur rolled his eyes and grimaced, though Matthew thought he saw a glimpse of an exasperated but fond smile; "So it will be worth it…I suppose." Clearing his throat, he leaned forward and whispered, "You haven't _seen_ the look on his face as he was eyeing the…_oh what in the bloody hell was that damned thing called_…Playplace! You haven't seen the look on his face as he eyed that…_thing_ with its…_tubes_ and…_slides_ and…_poles_."

Matthew and Yao shared a confused glance.

Understanding the look and continuing on, he explained quickly: "It was later on that he admitted to me that he'd always wanted to play in it again after growing out of it, and, obviously, he's too old now, not to mention it would be downright embarrassing if he were to do that with the general public around, so I thought…well…" Giving a small wave, he trailed off, taking another sip of his tea.

Smiling appreciatively, Matthew had a big grin on his face; "Oh Arthur, you're so thoughtful!"

To his surprise, Arthur didn't roll his eyes or snort; he merely looked away and blushed.

"Matthew's right, aru," Yao nodded, smiling, "Alfred is going to love it! Just be careful to make sure he doesn't get too excited and attempt anything stupid."

"You exaggerate." Arthur gave a dismissive wave, though couldn't bite back a smile; "Though…if he gets stuck in one of those tubes I will most definitely take a picture and send it to you."

The three shared amused laughter, and a comfortable silence followed for brief moments afterwards.

"So, Matthew, what do you plan to get for the fro—" At the small glare sent his way, the British man cleared his throat awkwardly, "-I mean to say, the good Frenchman Mr. Bonnefoy."

Forcing down the urge to roll his eyes, Matthew sighed, "I'm not sure yet…" Looking down at his hands in his lap, he mumbled thoughtfully, "I want to do something special for him, but he's already making dinner, and I'm not really good at making anything else…"

"You can always buy him gloves," Arthur suggested; "It is realistic and useful."

"Yeah, but it's not _romantic_." The Canadian ignored the Londoner's small snort.

"I'm not very sure what I can say to help, aru…" Yao hummed, eyebrows slightly furrowed in ponder; "…Maybe combine his hobbies?"

Before Matthew could answer, Arthur cut in with a somewhat sarcastic chortle:

"Hobbies…If _that_ were the case, you should just get a French maid costume and get on with it."

"...What?" The strawberry blonde eyed his cousin with a bewildered and slightly weirded out expression on his face; "Why…would I get Francis something like _that_…?"

There was a small pause in the conversation as the Brit seemed to startle as if just realizing he'd spoken out loud.

"…Errrm…Never mind, Matthew; forget about what I said…" Rubbing his nose sheepishly, he looked embarrassed.

"…What do you—" It was then it suddenly hit him, what his cousin had accidentally blurted out and was insinuating. Matthew instantly felt his cheeks flame up; "…Oh…"

Yao looked back and forth between the two blondes, and took a sip of his tea.

"…D-Don't you dare do it!" Arthur, cheeks also growing redder, spluttered out; "I—I do not approve!"

He only managed to make the situation even more awkward unfortunately.

Matthew looked away, and sipped his own cup, face still rather crimson.

…_You won't know anyways…_He thought, but kept it to himself.

"_So_, erm…Yao, what do you—what do you plan to get for Ivan?" Trying to ease the atmosphere, Arthur turned the direction of focus to his dark-haired friend.

"I already got everything ready, aru," Nodding to himself, he smiled, dark eyes sparkling; "I got a nice coat for him, and I also have tickets for _very_ good seats to see _the Nutcracker_, aru!"

Matthew took a gasp, sitting up higher in his seat excitedly; "That sounds wonderful!"

"Thank you, aru," Tucking long strands of smooth hair back behind his ears, Yao couldn't stop smiling; "He doesn't know yet; it's a surprise. He often tells me of his life in Russia, aru, and he told me once that, before his parents passed away, it was a tradition for his family to travel to Saint Petersburg during Christmas time to see his grandparents, and they _always_ watched _the Nutcracker_ at the Mariinsky Theater."

"That must've been magical, eh?"

The Chinese man nodded; "He always had a dreamy look in his eyes when he talked about it, aru, but he hasn't been going to ballets, so I thought he would enjoy it. I got a ticket for his sister too!"

"Oh how lovely! Ivan will be one happy man!" The Canadian exclaimed, nudging the dark-haired man a little teasingly.

Yao's cheeks pinked a little, but his smile did not falter in the least.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Ten minutes into grocery shopping, Ivan already seemed to have completely forgotten about the little cheek-squeezing episode and chattered happily with Francis, talking about cooking and how to set up a pretty table.

The Frenchman was currently down the aisle, looking at some crushed seasoning herbs with a pensive expression. Ivan watched him with mild curiosity; the longer-haired blonde seemed to be unable to pick out a better one between two small glass jars.

Turning away from his friend and looking around, he suddenly caught sight of a family of five – the father pushing the shopping cart, and the mother picking out some decorations for Christmas trees, while three children stood around them, giving suggestions in happy voices.

The scene was painfully familiar; it reminded him of everything he'd lost.

Sighing, he shifted his line of vision away to the tall tree behind the family instead, tilting his head back upwards.

Though he lost many things, he still had much left, and, throughout the years, gained many as well, so – he told himself – it's not too bad.

Looking at the tall Christmas tree and its many shiny decorations, he felt his mind sink back into a memory he had not cared to reminisce with for a very long time.

Violet eyes shimmering warmly, a small smile tugged his lips upwards, though he wasn't quite aware of it.

…

~o0o0o0o0o~

…

What he was doing was enough to earn him a scolding from his manager should he be caught in the act, but, luckily, not enough to be fired, hence why he dared to attempt such a thing (that and, being one of the youngest employees, people often cut him more slack).

Poking his head out from behind a shelf of various kinds of bagged snacks, he looked around cautiously, eyes wide-open and attentive.

There were several customers in that aisle, some merely passing through with their shopping carts, some stopping to take a closer look. None of them noticed him, and he breathed a small sigh of relief before tiptoeing in quick steps across the aisle, bent in midsection.

Why was he behaving the way he was? Well…

His last shift before Christmas had just ended; he was just on his way to the back to get changed and head home when his manager, a rather stern-looking man with short, dark hair and a permanent frown, waved him over.

"Take this tree to the back with you," The man said.

"Is something wrong with it?" Looking at the small tree, violet eyes scanned over its entire form, but could not find any broken branches or any other imperfections.

"The star at the top won't light up when the tree is plugged in," His manager explained in a somewhat droning voice; "Take it to the back and switch the star with one of the other trees in stock and see if it works; if not, just throw it away and you can go home."

"Da." He nodded.

Returning the gesture with a curt one of his own, the manager briskly walked off. "Merry Christmas, Ivan; have a safe trip home." The dark-haired man murmured more in habit than anything.

"Thanks; merry Christmas to you too~" Ivan replied anyways.

With a few long strides, the manager turned a corner and disappeared.

Walking to the back and going into the storage room, he placed the small tree on a table and, humming a small tune, quickly found the other little trees grouped together in the nearest corner.

Randomly picking and plucking off a star, he returned to the small tree on the table.

After the stars were switched, he unwound the looped electric cord before going to a nearby wall and putting the plug into the socket.

The star did not light up.

It was the tree itself then…

Switching the stars once more so the original one now sat on the tip of the tree, Ivan sighed, feeling a little bad for the poor thing, which, for some reasons, looked very sad. Its branches were tilted downwards as if drooping down in defeat and hurt, and it looked so small sitting on the big table…

…It was unfortunate that the poor thing was being thrown away just because it could not light up the star...

After all, everything else was looked fine.

Ivan blinked, round eyes never leaving the small tree.

…If the market didn't want it and was going to throw it away anyways…couldn't he just…

No, it wouldn't look good to sneak something away from his workplace.

But it was a waste to simply dispose of it…

The small tree stared back at him, silent and pleading.

_Ooooh, alright! You win, da~!_

Leaving only briefly for a trip to the employee's lounge to retrieve his belongings, he returned to the storage room, and wrapped his coat around the plant, easily covering its entirety, before pulling it into his arms.

Now that he decided to save the tree from meeting its doom – being thrown into the garbage – he realized that he really didn't know _how_ he was actually going to get it out of the market without being seen.

Not only were there lots of customers, there were also a larger number of employees currently working than usual to keep up with the demands of holiday season. They also wandered from aisle to aisle, which made it harder for him to avoid them. He knew he'd look very odd walking around holding something bulky with his coat wrapped around it, not to mention suspicious.

But if he were careful and lucky…

Taking a deep breath, he quietly and cautiously poked his head out from the storage room, looking to both sides, humming a tune that he once heard while watching a spy movie. For some strange reasons it helped him stay calm, or, at least he hoped, helped him become stealthier.

Maybe if he pretended he was invisible, he wouldn't be seen.

Deciding that the coast was clear enough (there were only two workers on break to his far left, but both had their backs turned towards him and were in deep conversation with each other), he sprinted off as swiftly and quietly from the storage room as he could, and found refuge in one of the empty aisles.

And thus his mission began.

Crossing the bagged snacks section, he allowed a moment to take a few deep breaths. It was a popular area, especially during this time of year with big parties and whatnot. He had successfully gotten past a few fellow employees without being noticed, and was only seen once by an old lady who wanted to know where the jam section was. She eyed his coat bundle curiously, but did not ask any questions, which he was grateful for. He told her the right way; she thanked him. And that was all.

Deciding it was best to keep moving, he made his way to cross another aisle, and that was when he saw him – his dark-haired manager coming his way in large strides, passing aisles after aisles and approaching him, but thankfully with eyes glued to the clipboard he was holding.

Gasping and immediately hopping into the nearest aisle, he pressed his back close to the shelf, and held his breath.

The dark-haired man passed by without any indication of having seen him.

Just as he was about to sigh in relief, a familiar voice caught his attention.

Whipping his head to the right, alarmed, he only caught a glimpse of golden curls before he turned to face the shelf, plopping down the coat-wrapped tree onto the floor, and hoped his legs would somehow shield it from sight. Standing perhaps a little too close to the goods to appear at ease, he pretended to be tidying things up.

It was one of his co-worker friends, a young woman currently a part-time student at a local college. She was leading a family into the aisle, telling them carefully how to find the bakery section that was "just a little to the right after walking through here". The family thanked her, and walked past Ivan, chatting about what cake to get, but, instead of leaving to do other things like how he hoped she would, she lingered, and seemed to be undecided about something.

He did not dare turn his face to see what she was doing, and only continued to move his hands around, putting products into neat little rows.

_Please don't come here please don't come here please don't come here…_

Her shoes made small, pattering noises on the floor as she turned fully to face him.

…_Oh no!_

His eyes widened as he tried to discreetly peer through his bangs.

She was looking at him with a bewildered expression.

_Please be on your way please be on your way please be on your way…_

There were more pattering noises, and they were getting closer and closer.

_-Oh noooo!_

He squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a dismayed gasp.

She stopped right beside him, and he tried to bury his face into the many little square-ish bags that lined the shelf in a last attempt at hiding, not realizing that they were, in fact, feminine hygiene products.

"…Ivan?"

_Noooooooo!_

"What are you doing?" She asked, leaning closer to him and trying to catch his eyes; "Is something wrong?"

"…Er-Erm…N-No…" He slowly turned his face towards her, and gave a weak laugh.

"Are you sure?" She blinked and frowned, not believing him in the least.

"…Da…" Slowly edging away, he shuffled his feet and looked away, afraid she'll see right through his badly-made-up lie; "I—I'm just…just…trying to…count how many bags are on the shelf; that's all!"

"…_Hmmmm_…? Really?" She leaned away, though her eyes remained questioning. "…Alright…As long as you stay out of trouble, kid."

He immediately nodded eagerly, and one of her eyebrows quirked up, though she did not ask any more questions.

"I'll see you after Christmas then, Ivan; happy holidays!" With a small wave, she walked off after giving him a bright smile.

"Happy holidays," He called out after her, the holiday wish sounding more like a relieved sigh.

Wasting no time to be thankful to his luck, he picked up the bundle on the ground and left the aisle, after making sure no one was paying him any attention.

More aisle hopping and narrow escapes of avoiding co-workers later, he could see the exit, wide and welcoming, as he hid behind a big Christmas tree at the head of one of the shelves.

If he ran for it, it was no more than fifteen paces or so at most, but there was a problem.

The grocery section, where all the fresh vegetables and fruits were, was in the way, and many customers and market employees walked about. Old folks and young folks all alike wore smiling faces, pausing and lingering every once in a while, some picking up various products for closer inspection. Ivan watched as his co-workers watched everyone around them with keen eyes, trying to see if anyone needed their assistance. This wasn't unusual, since their dark-haired manager made sure the workers under his care were friendly, always alert, and helpful to the general public, but, at that moment, it became a huge obstacle for the Russian teen to pass by without being seen.

If he were shorter or smaller in size, it wouldn't be too difficult of a problem, since there were enough people to camouflage him enough for him to slip through unnoticed, but, unfortunately for young Braginsky, he was not only tall for his age, but also taller than almost everyone he'd encountered. If he were a head shorter it would probably make his chance of successfully passing through a lot higher.

"…What do I do…?" He murmured to himself, looking back and forth between the obstacle facing him and the small bundle of hidden tree branches in his arms.

He was facing a dilemma, and had no one to ask for advice.

He didn't _have_ to take the small tree of course; he already had surprise presents for his sisters, which he'd carefully wrapped up and hidden away so the girls wouldn't stumble upon them. He knew they were going to love his presents, because he'd seen them throwing wishful glances through the window of the store they always passed by each morning as they headed to the bus station, where they all begin their journeys for the day.

The store had assortments of various intricately-styled garments for women and young girls, though his sisters' wandering gazes often lingered on the pretty dresses.

He'd started saving up as much money as he could. It was weeks before he had enough for the store's price tags.

It took a lot of help from the shop owner for him to decide what dress to get for each of his sisters, but in the end, he managed without too much difficulty, and left the store feeling even more excited for the upcoming Christmas than before.

He knew for certain that Yekaterina and Natalia were going to _love_ them.

But he also knew they didn't have a Christmas tree.

Ever since the sudden deaths of their parents and the great loss of home, they haven't had a tree for the holidays. It wouldn't have bothered them much if it weren't for how, when they had a complete family, it was a tradition to get a big tree for the living room for everyone to gather around and decorate.

...His sisters would _love_ to have a tree…

But he didn't want to get in trouble with his manager right before Christmas either…The man could be downright frightening when he gets mad.

And Ivan didn't like making others mad during this time of the year especially, because everyone is supposed to become one big family during this time of year.

If everyone were to become one, together, then everyone would be happy, right?

Wide, violet eyes blinking, he suddenly noticed a nice gap between the blind spots of the two closest market employees. With a gasp and a small jerk of his chin, he barely thought his actions through before pushing off instantly and sprinting towards the window of opportunity.

It turned out to be a bad idea to be impatient and careless.

Just as he rushed past his two fellow workers, an old couple suddenly came out of nowhere around a corner, and, too late to stop, he yelped in alarm, and crashed into their cart.

There was a big explosion of sounds as the cart completely overturned, hurtling down sideways to the floor, and all its contents fell in a big cascading motion down along with it.

The hold he had around the tree loosened, and the small plant slipped from inside his coat and dropped onto the ground in a small thud.

He was the next to follow, gravity mercilessly pulling him down as he pretty much fell right on top of the overturned shopping cart, wincing with soft exclaims of pain as its metal frame dug into his torso and arms.

Groaning, he was faintly aware of hurried footsteps and people gathering around him to see what was going on. Opening his eyes and looking up, he met the shocked faces of the old couple whose cart he crashed into, and instantly flushed completely red.

Scrambling to get up, he was halfway up on his knees when someone grabbed him by the back of his sweater and lifted him up back onto his feet.

It was one of the employees he rushed past, who stared at him with dismay and displeasure.

"What the hell happened here, Braginsky?" He asked in a scolding tone, an annoyed frown on his face.

"I—I'm sorry!" Ivan quickly apologized in succession, to the startled old couple, the co-worker still holding him by the back of his collar, and everyone that was looking at the spectacle.

"Where did you even come from?" The man holding him questioned further; "I didn't see you pass by here at all!"

The Russian teen almost felt accomplished at that statement, but realized that it was probably not a good time to congratulate himself on his sneaking skills, though bumping into a big shopping cart right afterwards kind of contradicted it.

"I was-I was just…" He was just about to come up with an explanation when his co-worker looked down, and saw the small Christmas tree half concealed under his coat.

The man was only silent for a second when a realization dawned to him, and, abruptly snapping his piercing gaze up in one motion, he took in a sharp breath of disbelief and shock:

"You were trying to shoplift!"

Gasping loudly and instantly shaking his head side to side, he began to protest:

"No! No! That's not it! I wasn't! The tree's broken and the manager told me to dispose of it so I was going to take it outside to throw it away!"

"There's a disposal bin in the back." The man lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

"It's—It's full!" The lie passed his lips so quickly that he didn't even have time to register what he had said; when he did, he almost slapped himself.

The disposal bin was cleared everyday, and it was very big, so the chance of it being full was very slim, and everyone knew that.

The man holding him pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, and Ivan felt the cold claws of dread and fear clench around his heart.

_Oh no…!_

…_Oh no!_

_What do I do?_

He looked so troubled and scared the man that caught him actually looked uncomfortable for a briefly moment, but it flickered away and turned back into a disbelieving frown.

"If you're just taking it to be disposed of, why were you being so sneaky wrapping it up with your coat?"

"I—I—…" Large eyes round and clear with anxiety, Ivan began to self-consciously scoot away, though he hardly moved from his spot at all due to the hand still holding him back.

"Well?"

"I didn't-I didn't just want you to think I was sneaking it away, da~! …That's why I wrapped it up!"

Lowering his chin, Ivan looked down, wringing his hands together and nibbling on his lips. It was then the man remembered that he was, despite of his height, still really just a child.

"…Well…" There was a small sigh, "I'm sorry, Braginsky; I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that," He smiled at the young teen, a little apologetic; "What am I doing ruining the holidays for you – I'm sorry."

Ivan couldn't believe his luck, lifting his head up and staring at the man with wide eyes and mouth hanging open, though it was partly hidden behind his scarf.

He thought he could've kissed the man from how thankful he was.

"I—…It's okay," He slowly blinked, and softly sighed in relief (he's been doing that an awful lot) when the man let go of the back of his collar. "Thank you, Mr. Morozov!"

The man gave a quiet grunt, but continued to smile.

Turning to the old couple whose cart he crashed into, he apologized to them once more and was just going to bend down to pick up the fallen food products when a familiar voice called out from the left behind the small crowd:

"What's going on here?"

Ivan immediately froze.

It was the manager!

Footsteps were coming closer and closer, and people were beginning to turn and look.

If the manager comes and finds out what happened, there was no way he'd get away!

Bystanders were starting to part aside to allow the manager passage, and a dark-haired head was coming into view.

Body still frozen and thoughts racing so quickly that he could barely distinguish them in his head, he could only watch, head tilted towards the direction the man was coming from, as the impending tongue-lashing he knew he was gonna get approached closer and closer.

"Excuse me, miss." A mumble could be heard, and the manager's face came into view between the shoulders of two young women as he gently nudged one of them on the arm.

His eyes caught Ivan's, and the latter's widened with "Oh no!" pretty much written all over his face.

The manager took one step into the front of the circle of audience, and parted his lips:

"What did you—"

_**BOOM!**_

Everyone jumped on their feet and swirled around to look towards the direction the dark-haired man had arrived from.

"What in the world—" The manager spun around on his feet and looked back with wide eyes.

It sounded like an explosive combustion of some sort. There was smoke coming from where Ivan knew the bakery section was and faraway sounds of people yelling at each other in alarm.

"Mr. Vasilyev! Mr. Vasilyev!" Someone shouted out, and a person not quite distinguishable in the distance ran out from behind some stands and motioned wildly with his hands; "Come quickly! The ovens—"

Cursing under his breath and brushing a hand through dark hair, the manager turned slightly only to give Ivan a dismissive wave.

"Pick things up and head on home, Ivan." Without another word, Mr. Vasilyev the dark-haired manager walked away in hasty steps.

Not needing to be told twice, Ivan bent down and returned the cart back onto its wheels before reaching for the fallen goods. The man who caught him by the back of his collar earlier began to help as well, as did the bystanders.

In no time everything was picked up and put back into the cart.

After apologizing one last time to the old couple and a few words of cordiality with his co-worker, Ivan hugged the small Christmas tree back into his arms, and ran out of the super market.

…

~o0o0o0o0o~

…

"…Ivan? Ivan?"

Ivan blinked, snapping out of his stupor of memories, and turned around.

Francis had finally decided which glass jar of herbs to get – one of them was sitting inside the cart – and was looking at him with slight worry.

"_Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?_"

The Russian blinked again.

"You…look faraway,_ mon ami_," The Frenchman reached over, holding him by the shoulders, and gently guided him to turn fully so they stood face to face; lifting a gloved hand, the longer-haired blonde placed it onto his forehead. "…You don't feel abnormally warm, though your cheeks are still very flushed."

There was a moment of silence, but it was very brief before violet eyes began to widen.

Almost jumping back and yelping, Ivan wore a very defensive expression as his hands shot up to cover his cheeks:

"Leave my cheeks alone, da!" He exclaimed heatedly, watching the other man carefully.

Francis' hand was still somewhat raised as he stared, a little startled, at the Russian's sudden movement.

He blinked, and suddenly looked like he didn't know whether to laugh out of amusement at the reaction or embarrassment at his previous actions.

In the end, he settled for awkward chuckles, and dropped his hand; "I promise to never offend your cheeks again, Ivan."

"…Good." With a small frown, the taller male narrowed his eyes slightly, "Or I bring my pipe on you." A small, threatening glint flashed across his eyes, and the Frenchman felt his body stiffen automatically as if reacting to danger. But it went away very quickly, and was replaced by a pleased smile; "And you will not tell anyone about my cheeks, da~?"

"_Mais non; c'est notre secret._" Francis gave a carefree shrug, and patted him on the arm. Waving a hand towards the right, he gave his head a small tilt; "Come, we still have many things to buy."

"Da~"

With that, the two walked off, Ivan voluntarily pushing the cart.

Francis still wondered about the faraway look the Russian had in his eyes moments ago, but decided to not ask about it, though the urge to question was strong since the tall man started humming a small tune under his breath that sounded curiously similar to the Pink Panther theme.

~o0o0o0o0o~

A day later, a beaming, grinning Yao carefully put the small, multi-functional rice cooker and shiny Wok onto the kitchen counter next to a half eaten Hello Kitty cake. Pale cheeks pleasantly flushed, he only looked away from his new cooking gear when Ivan appeared at the kitchen door, dressed in a nice, new, classy long coat, tugging at the cuffs and smiling at him shyly behind his fluffy scarf.

A small gasp followed by an exclaim caught both their attentions:

"Вы выглядите настолько красивыми, Иван!"

Yekaterina appeared as well, wearing a cute little dress that was quite humble for her figure.

Ivan blushed, and murmured a "thanks" in Russian back to his sister. Turning to Yao, he gave a bright, happy grin:

"Yekaterina likes your present as much as I do, Yao~"

The Chinese man couldn't help but grin back; "I'm glad, aru; I hope she'll like my other present just as much."

"I'm sure she will; she always loved seeing ballet, da~!"

Blocks away in a fancy apartment, Francis almost dropped the glass of wine he was holding when his little Matthieu – his _innocent_ little Matthieu – came out of the bathroom wearing a black and white ensemble of ruffles and lace and the whole nine yards of a French maid outfit, including garters and stockings.

His surprised expression was mirrored on the Matthew's reddening face as he took full sight of the Frenchman, who was only moments before fully dressed, lounging comfortably yet sensually across the span of the king-sized bed, holding a glass of wine with a basket of various deserts on the side, completely naked.

A few silent moments passed, and Francis suddenly burst into chuckles.

Cheeks growing hotter even more, the Canadian let out an embarrassed whine and hid his face behind his hands.

"Wh-What are you laughing about, eh?"

_Oh God…I must look ridiculous in this costume…_

"_Non_; _non_, please don't hide your beautiful face, Matthieu," The Frenchman's voice was smooth and velvety, a sensuous timber that sent shivers down the strawberry blonde's spine. "It just amuses me that we somehow ended up thinking about giving each other the same thing."

"…What…?" Peeking from behind his lace-gloved hands, Matthew gave a small, shy, but wondering look.

"_Mon cher amour_," Francis, swirling the glass of wine almost lazily, gave him a "come hither" look with deep, ocean blue eyes that shimmered enchantingly under the warm light of the candles scattered around the room, accompanied by a half-smirk most wicked and suggestive, "You cannot possibly expect me to believe that you prepared such an ensemble in expectation that I will ask you to clean."

The Canadian blushed harder, but scooted closer towards the bed.

Several streets down in the living quarters connected to the Agency's office, Arthur took a deep, shaky breath, and collapsed down onto the bed in a room with superhero posters covering its walls, naked skin gleaming with sweat and several strands of cropped blond hair sticking to his flushed cheeks. The silly pirate hat he wore blocked half of his vision, but that didn't stop Alfred from climbing on top of him and giving him one of his insufferably wide grins.

The British man looked over the form of his lover, and stated in a flat tone:

"You look ridiculous."

The American laughed; "Shut up; you know you love it."

Arthur muttered, but didn't disagree.

Becoming even more pleased (if that was possible), Alfred plucked the pirate hat off from Arthur's head and put it on his own. "Now I'm a _dangerous_ fairy!"

Rolling his eyes, the Londoner bit back a laugh; "You just look even more ridiculous."

"Hey! I happen to think I look very sexy!" At that, the blonde on top struck what he thought was a sexy pose, the twin pink wings strapped to his back coming into view, sparkles glittering much like his vibrant blue eyes.

"Fine, you're sexy. Now get off of me; you're very heavy." Arthur made an attempt at snatching back his pirate hat, but the cheeky American only leaned back a little and out of his reach.

"No." He stuck out his tongue.

Giving a deep sigh that was probably more for show than actual frustration, the Brit gave the naked chest in front of him a small push; "Get off of me or I'll email everyone the pictures I took of you being stuck in one of the tubes at Playplace in McDonald's."

Alfred looked horrified.

"No Artie! Please don't!" He pleaded with wide eyes.

Arthur only lifted an eyebrow.

"I'll do anything!" He quickly added.

"…Anything?" The bushy eyebrow rose higher, and a new look entered Arthur's sharp green eyes.

The grin returning to his face, the American reached forward and ran a hand across the Londoner's naked torso.

"…Does Capt'n Kirkland have any ideas as to what the '_anything_' might be?" Tilting his head sideways in a coy manner, his cheeks caught the little light from the street lamps outside streaming through the window, and the glitter he smeared on his skin sparkled.

"I have a few."

With a smirk, the green-eyed man suddenly gave him a shove and turned their positions around, settling on top.

Falling onto his back with a soft "Oof!", Alfred looked up, and almost let out a deep moan as Arthur took back his pirate hat and put it on, that smug expression full of desire never leaving his face for a second.

Alfred decided that, when he got the chance, he was _really_ going to have to thank Ivan properly for inspiring him to come up with such an idea for Arthur's present.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:** Please correct me if there's anything wrong XD

_Mais non_ – Of course not

_Je suis préoccupé pour lui…_ – I'm worried about him…

_Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?_ – What's wrong?

_Mais non; c'est notre secret._ – Of course not; it's our secret.

Вы выглядите настолько красивыми, Иван! – You look so beautiful/handsome, Ivan!

Many thanks to _radioactive edelweiss_ for fixing up my French! :D

**Ending Notes: **So, what do you guys think? ;)

I feel like I could've done better, but there's only so much that can happen in a supermarket…Sorry if it's not to your expectations! ;_;

Oh Ivan…unknowingly pressing your face into packages of feminine pads and tampons to hide - tsk, tsk! Ignorance is a bliss, dontcha think? By the way, anyone else has had urges to pinch his cheeks? There's just something about them…I wanna give them a squeeze so much! Though, if it were actually _Russia_ (and not my somewhat calmer AU-version of him), it'd probably a good idea to have an escape route planned out beforehand to avoid being beaten to a pulp. (Such a nice, cheery, suitable topic for the holidays, eh? ;p) But then again, you can always bargain with him with vodka or something…or becoming one with him. (I'll become one with you under the condition that you'd let me pinch your cheeks everyday! MWAHAHAHAHA--!)

Anyways…

I'd like to _thank you guys super much_ for helping me with ideas on what presents to get for the team! :D BIG MUAHS TO YOU ALL--! tackles and smooches– You guys are the best!

I _really_ wanna see fairy Alfred…He should like…do a show or something for Arthur…AND for all of us too of course! -insert pervert face- Wouldn't y'all love that? 8DDDD

I donno if it's possible to get stuck in the McDonald's Playplace tube thingies; you know, those things that connect the whole thing together? …Just pretend it's possible. XD

I've actually never seen a multi-functional rice cooker, but I've heard about it. Apparently it can make soup, cook rice, and steam things at the same time. Isn't that so awesome? It'd be a nice change from what I usually cook, which are usually instant oven food…Yeah, I'm so healthy. XD

Well, I don't really have much else to say, except:

**Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments, favourites, subscriptions, and everything!** I say this all the time, but y'all know **I love you**. GROUP HUUUUG! –glomps–

To anonymous reviewers: since I can't reply to you, I'll just leave a note here – please know that I appreciate your kindness so, SO much that you'd take the time and leave a few words. Your reviews make me grin with beaming happiness just as much as signed reviews, and I thank you so much for reading and everything!

Enjoy the holidays, m'dears! I just realized that New Years is actually a Thursday too…Damnit I donno what to do, 'cause the next chapter to the actual story's kinda depressing, and I don't wanna post something like that on New Year's Eve XD

What do you think I should do? Please help! ;_;

…Oi! Matthew! Come here and give them puppy eyes!

-Matthew gives puppy eyes-


	19. Another Sudden Departure

**Author's Notes:** Oh man...y'all have no idea how many times I tried to upload this document and everything was screwed up...=_='' Everything's still screwed up, but at least now I can fix it back to normal (My IE died every time before when I tried to fix...).

-shakes head-

Anyways...

NASTY PLOT-TURN AHEAD!

Ahem…In lighter news, here's another chapter of the story for youuuuu—! :D

_One last thing:_ …Prepare lots of tissues for the lattermost part of the chapter if you cry when you read sad/angsty things like me. XD

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

While Francis was in a much better mood than after the unexpected reunion with Gilbert, a question still nagged at him. Wondering if the red-eyed man had mentioned it while he was at the café, and what he was doing there in the first place, the Frenchman casually stroke up a conversation.

"You have tomorrow off from work, _oui_?"

"Yep!" Matthew grinned happily, "As much as I love Roderich and Elizabeta, I've been really looking forward to my day off." That was, of course, mostly due to the fact that he could spend more time with Francis.

"_Hmmmm_," The Frenchman nodded, briefly sending him a smile before turning his attention back to the road, "Is Arthur still imposing the curfew on you?"

"…Ooooooh!" The Canadian groaned, dropping his head to the side against the window, "I totally forgot about that! This is so unfair! …Can't we just ignore it?"

"Last time we tried,_ mon petit chaton_, he called every ten minutes until you were at your doorsteps." Chuckling, Francis shook his head slightly, hair swishing very slightly and glowing gold under the bright street lamps; "I don't suggest you to not answer either. He will most likely do a location spell to find us, and I'm not very keen on the idea of having him toss a curse over my head."

Remembering the last incident when the two of them had tried to push the curfew and the commotion Arthur went through just to make sure Matthew was back home, which included the British man threatening to turn Francis' hair green for a week, neither of them wanted to go through that again. The Canadian had wondered if it were possible to do something like that as it sounded quite _Harry Potter_, but didn't put it past his cousin to find out a way to achieve it somehow.

After all, the Londoner was very intelligent and extremely determined.

Besides, there were other means of dying someone's hair green aside from magic.

Francis had taken that threat quite seriously, and, since then, had been very diligent in following that rule. He was horrified at the prospect of having green hair and called Arthur a sadist, which largely contributed the passionate quarrel that followed.

"He does have reason for his ways; you must be tired from a day of work, _non_?"

"Yeah…I guess…" Somehow Matthew was unconvinced that his stern cousin was worrying over that, though he kept that thought to himself.

"That Austrian seems like a hard employer to please…?" Francis' voice held a note of wonder.

"Roderich's alright. Though he gets sidetracked sometimes he's very professional; there's absolutely no slacking off either – '_everything has to be done with full enthusiasm but in an orderly fashion'_." Matthew, imitating the brunette's accent, bite back a giggle; "It was funny though, seeing him say that with such a straight face and voice like a robot's."

Francis' smile broke into an amused grin; yes, he could definitely imagine Roderich's mannerism while saying something like that, and wondered how a "fully enthusiastic" Roderich would look like.

"He's trying though, to smile more and look friendlier I mean. He's polite and all, but sometimes a little too polite. Elizabeta's pretty much the only one who can make him have actual expressions," Matthew didn't proceed to speak of the embarrassing episode of when he walked in on his two bosses in a rather compromising position. Luckily, clothes haven't been ripped offyet, but the rather forward and passionate Hungarian woman had her hands on the Austrian's shirt as if in preparation to do it.

Quickly pushing the imagery imprinted in his mind away, the Canadian continued, hoping Francis didn't notice his reddening face; "Maybe Gilbert's right…Roderich can use some loosening up, eh…?"

"Gilbert knows of Roderich?" The Frenchman was careful to allow a moment for a breath so he wouldn't sound too hasty or curious. Matthew was actually a little apprehensive after he let his thought regarding the rather rude-mouthed man slip his lips. He thought the blonde driving was going to be upset at the mention of that name, but was glad there was no such thing.

"Yeah," Nodding, the strawberry blonde added, "They're cousins; hard to believe, eh? They're so different from each other."

"Ahhhh…" _So that's why Gilbert was at the café…_

"They don't seem to get along either; they look like they can barely tolerate each other actually."

Francis assumed that was why he was never informed of such a cousin from Gilbert when they were—

"-But I still think they care about each other, despite of what they might say…" A thoughtful look appeared on Matthew's face; "I wonder what Gilbert's case in New York is…"

"Gilbert is working on a case?"

The Canadian startled.

He didn't realize he'd let his thoughts slip past his tongue again.

"I—I'm sorry," He immediately became flustered, and lowered his head, a little ashamed; "I'm being—…I sound nosy, don't I…"

They met a red light, and Francis turned to face the younger blonde; "_Non, mon chéri_, I'm glad you are telling me about this. You answered all of my questions without me asking." He reached over a hand, and gently lifted the lowered head upwards.

Big blue eye met his own, and he gave a kind smile. _"…C'est mieux, mon amour."_ He whispered as Matthew's face was no longer hidden in shadow.

"Francis…" The Canadian spoke softly, pausing as he gave a slow blink, "I've been wondering…you don't have to answer if you don't want to but…how do you—…How do you know Gilbert?"

At that, Francis stayed silent, gazing into his eyes with a faraway look.

The light turned green, and the car behind them honked, so the Frenchman had to turn his attention away.

A few minutes passed, and Matthew, growing anxious and feeling bad about bringing something undesirable up and ruining the moment, had just opened his mouth to say something to break the silence when the other man spoke.

"We were friends, and colleagues, when I was in Europe." His voice was smooth to the extent of almost emotionless – there was a distinct sense of despondency; "Along with another friend from Spain, we founded an organization very similar to Alfred's agency, though it was more focused on detective work rather than the supernatural." Francis blinked, and the Canadian could tell he was deep in memories he perhaps had not thought of since a very long time ago.

"We were young, rash, but good at what we did. We were quite successful, and had everything going well for us, but—…" The Frenchman gave a slow shake of his head, sighing deeply, "…It was…a bad age for me. I did not understand fully the consequences of my actions, and that cost me dearly, as well as friends and-" He abruptly paused but quickly continued, "-companions…

"Later on, I met Alfred, and promptly decided to follow him to America. You can say I simply chose to run away." A sad smile made its way onto Francis' face; his eyes looked disappointed, and Matthew knew it was towards himself.

"Gilbert never forgave me for what I've done, and I now know, from today's events, that after all this time, his impression of me never changed." He gave a sarcastic, breathy laugh; its bitterness heartrending. "_Il est très entêté, ce salaud..._"

There was an awkward silence as Matthew contemplated in his head what he'd just heard. Big chunks of information were missing, but he decided that, at that moment, they were not important.

Looking over at the Frenchman, he noticed, somewhat surprised, that the older male was actually looking a little restless as if anxious for him to say something.

"Francis, you…you shouldn't blame yourself, eh?" The Canadian looked down; "It's…_difficult_…but, instead of living in what you did wrong, you should focus on the present, and what you can do to make things better."

There was a slight pause as he tried to swallow down an unexpected wave of conflicting emotions flaring up inside his chest. There was an abrupt shift inside his mind; he unconsciously shivered, and suddenly, he became confused.

He no longer knew who he was speaking to – Francis, or himself.

It only took a split of a second for him to abruptly sink back into memories.

It always only took a split of a second…

"…People tell you it isn't your fault, and that, under the circumstances, it was understandable, but sometimes…sometimes under the understandable circumstances, you do such unforgivable things, and even though it is okay, you can never take it back…

…Things you did that hurt another person, or something you took from them that is too precious…It's—" His fingers clenched around the fabrics of his pants, "-It's cruel…not only to them, but also to yourself. I think-I think to be a good person, it's not always about doing good things, but about making the right mistakes. No matter how many good things you do, once you make the wrong mistake, even under understandable circumstances it's—"

His hands trembled.

"-It's—"

—_Blood…too much blood…_

"-too late…"

_"Papa…?"_

_Papa was still, legs and torso mangled, twisted into the wheels of the truck. Bones contorted and crushed; flesh ripped and smeared into cement._

_His eyes were open, wide and blue…_

_Eyes…like his…_

_"Papa—"_

_A tear, bright and clear, was still slowly falling down the side of Papa's bloodied face—_

_"…Papa! …PAPA!"_

Abruptly forcing back a violent spasm, he wrenched his mind out from the horrifying stupor it had begun to sink into, and took a shaky breath. It always hurt when he forces his memories away so violently, but it was what he had to do to keep himself from falling back into the bottomless abyss that claimed him as a child. Looking up, he suddenly realized that Francis had parked the car at the side of the street, and was looking at him, alarmed and almost terrified with concern.

He stared at the Frenchman's eyes.

They were so blue…so beautiful…

…so blue, almost like his own…

…almost like—

-_No_. He must never make that association, or else it will poison his relationship with Francis.

"…Matthieu…?" A warm hand cupped around his cheek, and he gasped, startling into realization that it was bare.

"-NO—"

"**-I'm not!**"

Silence and stillness.

"…I'm not, _mon amour_; I promised you I wouldn't." Francis' eyes were earnest and pleading, if not somewhat frightened; his hand, placed around Matthew's cheek, trembled.

"It's—…_difficult_…I need all of my undivided will and attention to do it, and must not be even the slightest bit distracted, but right now – _mon chéri le plus cher, mon bel ange_…you have all of my care."

Matthew felt tears blurring his vision, but it wasn't because of the love and passion behind Francis' voice, or how good it felt to have the Frenchman's bare skin touching his.

No, he was angry, disgusted, and ashamed at himself.

For once, he was going to offer support and help to the older man, who actually willingly exposed insecurities unlike other times, but instead, not only did he not do that, he ended up making the other worried.

_Selfish…Needy…Weak…_

"I-I'm sorry, Francis. I'm definitely the worst listener ever…What was I thinking, offering to give advice…I can't even-I can't even—" _–deal with myself yet…_

"_Non, Matthieu_," The taller male shook his head slightly, shock and anxiety lessening somewhat for a gentler, warmer expression; "I understand what you meant; please finish your advice. I'd like to hear it."

Matthew gazed back into the kind, reassuring eyes, motionless, and unsure.

Francis gave a small nod; a smile of encouragement tiled up the corners of his lips.

The Canadian swallowed, and took a deep breath.

"I…What I wanted to say was that…instead of living in blame towards yourself, you should face what you did wrong, not with shame but—but with a desire to fix it, to make it right – to confront your mistake. You can…You can still fix it, right?"

Francis nodded.

"Then…you will be comforted, because you still have the chance to do that, and find an opportunity, not only for the people your hurt, but also for yourself, to make up for that wrong." Taking another deep breath, the strawberry blonde gave an uneven nod of head; "Yeah…that's what I wanted to say…You should never pass off the chance to say you're sorry if you still have it, eh?" Matthew's voice drifted off; he bit his lips absentmindedly.

Brushing his hand through the Canadian's soft, silky hair, the Frenchman smiled.

"_Oui, je suis d'accord_." He gently pulled the shorter man closer, and gave him a tender kiss on the forehead.

Leaning away and taking his hand back, he quickly slipped it inside his glove, as he'd only taken one off.

Matthew blinked as he noticed something strange; Francis, all of a sudden, looked exhausted.

"…Francis? Is…Is something wrong?"

Brushing both hands through long strands of wavy hair, the Frenchman closed his eyes and leaned into the back of his seat, sighing. "Remember what I said before, about how I am still working out the details of my abilities?"

Matthew nodded.

"…_Alors_…It takes intricate control to do what I just did; I haven't done something like that for a very long time – not since I came to America. Now it takes too much effort from me…" Eyes fluttering open, he sent a lazy but kind smile to his little Matthieu, "However, I am glad I did."

His smile was returned, though it was a little shaky; "…S-Sorry—"

"-_Non~_ You say that too often, Matthieu." He tapped the shorter man on the nose, chuckling as the other male jolted a little in surprise. "…Perhaps I should consider picking it up again, being able to have some control over what I want to see and what I don't, I mean. After all, gloves are not romantique at all during passionate love-making." Giving a shrug, he shook his head as a pouted frown made its way to his face.

"…Wait…You-you mean you…you…did _that_ with your gloves on before?" Matthew looked quite shocked.

_"Oui,bien sûr!_ How else am I supposed to share _l'amour_ with the selected, lucky few without offending their privacy?" Francis said, head tilting to the side, in a matter-of-fact voice.

The Canadian spluttered, pointing a finger at the Frenchman's gloved hands; "Hold-Hold on! You-You didn't—You didn't—"

"_Quoi?_" Blinking a few times in confusion, the taller blonde gasped into realization; "_-Non! Mon très cher Matthieu!_ I would never—…I threw them away afterwards!" Half laughing and half huffing in embarrassment at the notion that he would keep those gloves after he used them for carnal pleasures, he reached over a hand and ruffled the Canadian's hair endearingly. "Don't be silly, _mon petit coeur de sucre_!"

The strawberry blonde pouted and grumbled with a suspicious glance: "…I hope you're not sharing _l'amour_ with other people while you're with me, eh…"

Francis took in an exaggeratedly loud gasp, eyes flying open wide;_ "Bien sûr que non!_" He looked horrified, shaking his head so vigorously that his hair flopped around his face. "_Matthieu! Je t'aime! Comment peux-tu dire ça? Tu blesses mes sentiments!_" Half whining, he pulled on the Canadian's sleeves.

Matthew, not quite understanding what was being said, flushed bright red as the usually composed man pursed his lips and suddenly started acting rather childish. Flustered and stuttering, he sat up higher in his seat and only managed to get out an: "-Eh-Ehhh?"

"_Mais tu peux te rattraper, oui? Avec un baiser!_" With that, Francis cheekily puckered his lips and closed his eyes, slowly leaning towards the fidgeting strawberry blonde.

"…Errrm…" A little confused at what was happening and not knowing what else to do, Matthew sealed the distance and gave the Frenchman a firm peck.

_"—Oh, tu es le meilleur amant au monde, mon petit Matthieu! Tu me fais tellement heureux!_"

"-Okay, you can stop talking in French and take me to dinner now."

Francis laughed; Matthew stuck out his tongue.

The Frenchman leaned forward abruptly and kissed the tongue; the Canadian jumped and blushed.

The car drove off, the atmosphere within it much happier and lighter than when it was parked.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Crowding around the phone in the agency office with all his team mates sans Ivan, Matthew squirmed anxiously in his seat on the sofa, staring at the object and willing it to ring.

Lifting his line of vision and looking around, he saw equally anxious faces, some more obvious while others more subtle. Alfred pretty much mirrored his own expression, and tapped on the table impatiently.

The tapping seemed to agitated Arthur, who, wearing an annoyed scowl, finally reached out his hand and slapped Alfred's fingers; "Stop that!" He ordered in a brisk, firm tone.

"_Ow!_ Why do you always hit me!" The American rubbed his fingers and sent an unhappy glance to the British man.

"Because you always deserve it." Giving a sniff, green eyes weren't quite as harsh as the words spoken; crossing his arms in front of his chest, Arthur looked away almost as if he couldn't hold Alfred's gaze, which was strange as he wasn't one to back down from a staring contest.

No one else spoke through the little interaction between the two, as it was common occurrence for them to argue. However, Matthew, knowing his cousin well, and perhaps Francis, who was more observant, noticed the way Arthur's sharp eyes fleeted away from Alfred's blue ones to stare down at his hands, and how the Brit's bushy eyebrows were furrowed too deeply for them to be forming a mere frown of annoyance.

"…What's taking him so long, aru!" It was surprising that Yao was the next one to speak up; even more surprising was how he said it. The Chinese man, usually composed and calm compared to some of the other folks surrounding the phone, nibbled on his lips and wrung his fingers together, dark eyes glittering fretfully.

But it was understandable since they were, after all, waiting for Ivan's call from Russia.

The tall man had promised to let them know he was safe and well as soon as he landed in Moscow, and, according to calculations of his flight time, he was supposed to have landed already.

"Maybe…Maybe he's waiting to get home first before calling, eh?" Matthew suggested helpfully, wanting to offer some comfort, as flimsy as it was.

"But Ivan doesn't live in Moscow, aru…" Yao shifted in his seat, worry overtaking his expressions.

"Is he…Is he transferring to another plane to head home?" The Canadian asked.

"I think he said he will be taking the train…"

Not knowing what else to say, Matthew sent a look to Francis, who shook his head.

"Maybe we should call him, yeah?" Alfred brushed a hand through messy blond hair.

"But what if he's trying to call us at the same time, aru? Then-Then we'll miss him and he'll miss us and we'll be waiting forever!"

Yao abruptly pressed his lips together, cheeks tinting pink. He didn't mean to blurt out in a scurry, and felt a little embarrassed.

"_Mon cher ami_, we share your worry." Ocean-blue eyes met Yao's, shimmering with compassion but also support; "Perhaps we can wait for a few minutes more before trying to give him a call?" Turning to address everyone, Francis suggested, "We will only call once, so in case he is trying to call us, the line will be free when he tries again."

A murmur of agreement was his reply.

Nodding, Alfred gave a pout; "This is so unfair! Every time I say something it's '_no no no'_, but when someone else says the same thing it's '_yes yes yes'_!"

"That is because your suggestions always lack important components and details as to _how_ we are to proceed with them," Arthur sent the pouting blonde a pointed look.

"Well I like looking at the _big _picture." The American huffed and sat up straighter indignantly.

Sighing a little exasperatedly and preparing another lecture, the Londoner had just opened his mouth when the phone suddenly rang, its loud noise cutting through the rather quiet atmosphere with a shrill ring.

Everyone jumped and stared at the device.

"…W-Well? Answer it, you git!" Arthur gave Alfred a shove.

"What—Why? Shouldn't Yao answer?"

"It's still the agency's phone; it might be a client too!"

The phone rang for the third time.

"Hurry up!"

"Alright! Alright! _Geez_…" Pressing the "monitor" button on the stationary phone, Alfred took a deep breath and yelled out: "-HELLO?"

"-Bloody moron—you don't have to scream!" Arthur, swatting the American on the head, almost hollered out in fright at the sudden, loud shout.

"Stop hitting me!"

"Stop acting like an idiot!"

"I have to be loud or they won't hear me you know!"

"That doesn't mean you have to—"

"-The-The phone's on, eh!"

"…This is so embarrassing, aru!"

"_Alors_…I do hope it isn't an actual client—"

**"…Привет?"**

A familiar voice sounded from the phone, and the chattering team was immediately silenced.

Yao gasped, scrambling up from his seat and pulling the phone closer to himself, spoke in a clear voice: "Ivan? Is that you, aru?"

"…Yao! It's Yao, da~?" Hearing the childlike, happy voice float out from the phone, Matthew felt a tinge of sadness.

Though he'd send Ivan off at the airport, it was still hard to believe that the Russian was truly going afar. However, hearing his voice in such a manner, the notion that the tall man was actually in Moscow had finally sunk in, weighing heavy in his heart.

He was missing Ivan horribly already, gazing at the fish tank. It looked so strange without the broad-shouldered form standing in front of it, softly whispering adoringly to his colourful pets.

Matthew couldn't imagine what Yao must be feeling, though the slender, dark-haired male appeared to be simply relieved to hear Ivan's voice.

"It's me, aru…What took you so long to call us, aru! You promised you would call as soon as you landed!"

"Oh Yao, Я сожалею! My phone is out of battery, and I couldn't really remember the agency's number. It took me a lot of coins to finally get it right, but I found you, da!" The background was rather loud, but it didn't dim Ivan's joyful tone in the slightest.

"It's alright, aru…I'm just glad to hear you……—you are safe." There was a pause between Yao's latter sentences, and, judging from the blush overtaking the Chinese man's cheeks, Matthew guessed that the part that was added on in the end was purely additional. "How was the flight, aru?"

"The flight was long but comfy; I thought about Yao and everyone and my fish a lot, and also slept. The flight attendant gave me a tiny pillow that was very soft, and I saw movies too!" There was a loud voice speaking in the background, clear and distinct amongst the general noise. It sounded like the PA.

"Are you on a pay phone at the airport?" Alfred spoke up, voice significantly quieter than his initial "hello", but still quite loud compared to Yao's.

"Da~ I am using a pay phone."

"He already said he used coins, _Einstein_; stop asking obvious questions." Arthur rolled his eyes, and addressed the phone next, "Is your next means of transportation a train?"

"Da! Trains are fun; I wish everyone were with me so we can ride the train together!"

"_Ooooh_, I want to ride the train!" Matthew had a dreamy look in his eyes as memories of his train trip across Canada surfaced. Suddenly noticing eyes staring at him, he flushed red.

_Stop speaking out your thoughts, Matthew!_

"Matthew! Как дела?" The team could practically hear the big smile in Ivan's voice.

Not knowing Russian at all, the Canadian assumed he was being asked about the fish.

"Ehhhh…still swimming lots and eating lots!"

There was a pause; "…Matthew is swimming lots and eating lots?"

"…Eh?"

"…Da?"

"_Ahhh_, Matthieu, Ivan actually asked how _you_ were."

"—Oh!"

"Sorry Matthew! I got used to speaking Russian on the plane, da~"

"Oh—Errrm…" The strawberry blonde gave a weak laugh, embarrassed; "I'm-I'm great! How's Moscow?"

"Moscow is wonderful! It is colder than New York, and already snowed a little bit. It looks very much different than when I left Russia; it is amazing how much can change, but I still recognize many things too."

There was a note of nostalgia in Ivan's voice; Matthew smiled. Yes…no matter the situation, it is always nice to be back in one's homeland.

"Matthew and everyone should come to Russia sometimes, da~?"

"If we get a case soon, maybe…I'm still living off of water and bread, you know…" Alfred looked so miserable Arthur's stern expression actually faltered.

"I…I would love to visit you, aru!" Yao cut in.

The four blondes turned their head and looked at the dark-haired man with slight surprise at the strong sense of certainty in the firm voice.

Ivan also paused. There was a silence as Yao kept his eyes on the phone, unblinking and lips pressed together.

"…Yao…?"

"…But…But right now I…I…It will have to be some time from now, aru…" Yao's slim fingers where clenched together.

"-Yao—" Matthew began, but was stopped by a hand placed on his arm. Turning to the side, he caught sight of Francis, who shook his head slightly, a small, sad smile on his face.

"I think we should leave." The Frenchman whispered into his ear, and gently tugged on his arm.

Nodding, the Canadian sent a look to Arthur, who was sitting across from him.

"It's lovely to hear from you, Ivan," Francis leaned forward to the phone, speaking in a clear voice, "Unfortunately, Matthieu and I have engagements we must now attend to, so we will talk another time, _oui_?"

"Da! Talk to you later Francis, Matthew!"

"Talk to you later," Matthew replied.

"Call us when you get home; we would love to hear about your train ride." Francis' warm smile grew a little, eyes shimmering endearingly;_ "Tu nous manques, mon ami. Au revoir pour maintenant et prends soin._"

"Da~ I will call you; good bye~"

As Matthew left the room, following after Francis, he briefly wondered if Ivan actually understood all that French.

"…Well," Clearing his throat, Arthur got up from his seat; "Alfred and I have to go too."

"…We do?" Alfred frowned, looking up at the British man, bewildered.

"Of—Of course! …_Right now!_" The green-eyed man grimaced and wanted to slap his forehead at how dull the American could be at times; "I'm…I'm taking you to have a proper meal, remember?"

The younger blonde immediately gasped; "Really? Why didn't you just say so?"

Arthur gave in to the urge to slap his forehead, an expression of exasperation on his face.

"_Man_, Arthur, I didn't expect this at all!" Ecstatic, Alfred beamed up at the Londoner before turning back to the phone; "Hey, Ivan! Love to stay and talk and all, but gotta listen to the '_Mrs._', yeah?" Shooting up from his seat, he took in a deep, pleased breath, and flashed such a bright grin with sparkling eyes it was as if Christmas came early, hands propping up at his lips.

"-What in the—Who are you calling the '_Mrs._'?" Blushing madly, the British man lifted his hand to swat the taller one on the side of his head, but Alfred caught him before he could and cheekily gave him a kiss.

The Londoner froze, a comical expression of surprise plastered on his face.

"Catch ya later, Ivan! Peace!" Tugging a spluttering Arthur behind him, the American all but skipped out of the office.

"Lock up if you decide to leave, yeah?" Turning to address Yao, he gave a small wave; "The spare key's still under the same flower pot. Call us if you wanna find us," With that, he disappeared behind the door, fending off an embarrassed Brit who was still trying to swat him, (half pretentiously) angry at being called the "_Mrs._".

Smiling a little, Yao shook his head, feeling touched and thankful.

There was a small moment of silence before Ivan spoke up.

"Yao…I know you have obligations to your family, but…my offer still stands, da…? If you…If you ever decide that you want to come to Russia, you know I will always…_I'll be waiting._"

Tucking a few strands of hair behind one of his ears, Yao nodded, though the Russian could not see it, smile slightly sorrowful, but also hopeful.

"…I know, aru…I know…Ivan…"

~o0o0o0o0o~

Matthew looked up as sounds of loud chattering grew closer; Alfred, laughing, dodged Arthur's attempts at hitting his head. The Brit wore a heated expression of…anger? Embarrassment? Matthew wasn't sure. All he knew was that his cousin was awfully flushed and hurling insults at the American, who looked like he couldn't care less about what was being said.

"Hey! Mattie! Francis! Guess what just happened!" The loud-spoken blonde waved as he spotted the couple looking at him, "Arthur just asked me out!"

"-No I did _not_, you arrogant buffoon!" Arthur cried out, giving Alfred forceful shoves.

"Awwww, you're so _cute_, Arthur!" Puckering his lips, the American suddenly wrapped his arms tightly around the Londoner, who stiffened and instantly began to struggle, face getting redder by the second; "C'mon, give me another kiss!"

"NO! You just caught me off guard before; it's not going to happen again!" Trying to pull out of the embrace and green eyes flashing intensely, he pushed the incoming face away, and grunted as Alfred was quite strong, and was very determined in getting another kiss.

"Oh bloody hell—FINE! Have your damned kiss!" Turning his head, he sent the American a close-lipped peck, and was just going to pull away when he suddenly found that he couldn't.

Alfred insistently pressed his body closer, arms tightening around the smaller blonde. Sucking and nibbling on the British man's lips, he growled in annoyance when Arthur just stood there, rigid and stunned, and bit down.

Arthur cried out in pain and reeled; "-GAHH! WHAT THE—"

-And Alfred shoved his tongue in.

There was so much suppressed passion and raw desire in Alfred's kiss that the only thing the green-eyed man could do was stare blankly forward in shock, completely aware of the hot tongue stroking against his but not knowing how to respond at all.

Sensing the halt in struggles, the taller of the two pushed forward, and Arthur's back collided against the wall with a loud thud.

Grunting in slight pain, the Brit squeezed his eyes shut, and moaned.

_Oh God…Oh God…Matthew-Matthew is watching…Matthew is watching—_

And for the love of God he could not stop kissing back fervently.

"-Oh fuck!" Alfred, pausing for breath, only leaned back enough to allow for a gasp, lips still touching the shorter man's, face flushing beautifully; "Fuck, Arthur…Do you have any idea…Do you have any idea how much I—"

Suddenly terrified at what the American might say to complete that sentence, Arthur intervened in a feverish tone, sharp green shinning, craving for more; "-Kiss me; kiss me, Alfred. Again. _Again!_"

And Alfred did, vigourously.

Large hands groping and kneading the firm flesh of Arthur's buttocks, the American was vaguely aware of a surprised, hitched gasp. That didn't stop his actions (quite encouraged them actually), and, lips locked and tongues battling in a zealous frenzy, he pulled the slim hips of the smaller blonde closer in one, abrupt yank, and ground his crotch against the British man's.

Arthur hissed, an electrifying surge of intense pleasure trembling through his body.

"-A-Alfred—" He shifted his hips and rubbed forward, and could not bite back a loud moan as the feeling shocked through his system once more.

"_Ohhhh yes!_ That is _good_—" Huffing out breathy laughter, Alfred wore a wicked smirk on his face as he rubbed back just as enthusiastically, stormy blue eyes flashing dangerously, devouring the sight of how the prim and proper Englishman squirmed and whispered pleas for more.

There was a "ding" as the elevator arrived at their floor.

"…Matthieu—…_mon amour?_"

Matthew, rooted to his spot and eyes wide open, did not hear Francis' voice calling him at all. He was not aware of being tugged into the elevator, feet moving on their own accord, never blinking once to stop gawking in shock at the scene in the hallway.

It wasn't until the doors closed did he snap out of his stupor.

Blinking rapidly, his posture remained still and unmoving.

"…What just…What just happened…?"

"What just happened is what _always_ eventually happens if a person were to fight the basic needs of _l'amour_," The Frenchman sighed, shaking his head, though his expression wore an amused quirk of a smile; "I doubt Arthur has been giving Alfred enough physical attention, which is why this happened."

"…They're—They're not going to just—…in the hallway—" The Canadian's eyes grew even rounder and wider.

"For their sakes I actually hope they do," Francis brushed a hand through his hair, momentarily marveling at how smooth and silky they were as no tangles whatsoever met his fingers; "You saw how hot and bothered poor Alfred was; he must've wanted to do this but has been pushing it away for some time now."

Matthew, blinking once more, looked down, shock still evident on his face.

"…Oh my God…I just…I just saw my _cousin_…with-with—…doing—…hallway—…"

Concerned, the taller man gently patted the strawberry blonde on the head, voice consoling; "Don't think too much about it, _mon chéri_. Let's take a stroll to clear our heads."

Matthew could only nod, trying very hard to stop what he just saw from replaying in his head.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Giving Francis a kiss, Matthew waved and bid the Frenchman good night. Closing the door and locking it carefully as to not make any noise, he silently crept into the living room in the dark, narrowly missing bumping into furniture.

It was pitch black, which wasn't abnormal since it was almost midnight, and all curtains were drawn, but the Canadian had thought he'd see his cousin sitting on the sofa dressed in pajamas and reading a book or sneering at the TV (Arthur doesn't appreciate American entertainment shows very much, but claimed that "they suck you in"). The British man always insisted to wait up for his return whenever he went out on dates with Francis. While Matthew was touched, he felt that most of the time Arthur waited for him was to make sure the curfew was met.

Squinting and trying to see through inky blackness, he tiptoed across the floor, and was just going to go into his bedroom when he startled into realization that a vague shape was sprawled over the dining table.

It was motionless.

Blinking, Matthew turned to face the figure, leaning forward and tilting his head, trying to figure out what it was. At first he thought it was Arthur's thick, long coat, but as his eyes adjusted better to the dark, he noticed a head of messy, short blond hair half hidden under the large article of clothing.

"…Arthur…?" He tentatively called out.

There was a slight shuffle as the shape moved, and the head lifted up a little, turning towards him. By then Matthew could tell that it was his cousin sitting in a chair, arms and chest sprawled over the top of the table, while his legs were stretched out limply under it.

"…Matthew?" There was something strange about his voice; it sounded…muffled, perhaps? No…it sounded as though he had a cold and had troubles breathing through his nose.

"Arthur? Are you sick?" The Canadian walked a few paces forward and reached for the switch to the floor lamp.

"No, wait! Matthew don't—"

The lamp was clicked on, and instantly the room was filled with soft, if not somewhat dim, light.

Matthew took one look at Arthur, and gasped sharply in dismay.

Hair completely tousled, the British man had never before looked more fatigued and haggard. Strands of short, cropped hair stuck out awkwardly all over the place; the seldom ones framing his face stuck to his cheeks, which were wet and shined a little under the light. Where folds of fabrics met his face while his head was placed down on his clothed arms were marks, and Matthew wondered with dread how long Arthur had stayed in that position for. The usually sharp green eyes looked dull and tired, brimmed with tears, which still kept rolling down, though no movement was made to wipe them away. It was as if the man had already given up trying to stop them.

The skin of his cheeks looked raw and irritated, angrily red, and drenched by fresh and lingering tears.

Shifting his line of vision, Matthew had just taken notice of an overturned bottle of whisky, and an empty glass. There was no way to determine how much Arthur drank as the alcohol was spilt, though, judging from how much liquid was on the table and dripping down onto the floor, it was a good guess that the British man was definitely, at one point, completely smashed. It was hard to say how long ago it was when he had first initially started drinking, or when the bottle tipped over, but the Canadian was glad it fell over when it did.

Slowly walking closer to the still form, the strawberry blonde swallowed, not sure how to approach his cousin.

"…Arthur…are you-are you drunk?"

"…I wish I still am…" With a deep sigh, the messy blond head was lowered onto the table once more.

Pulling back a chair, Matthew took a seat, eyes never leaving the motionless form.

"What are you—…What happened, eh? Why are you—…" He paused, looking over the pale face half hidden in shadow, and reached over, gently wiping off tears the best he could.

Arthur sighed again, the sound helpless and heartbreaking, and closed his eyes. "It's no use, Matthew…" He said in a low whisper, lips barely moving; "They will just come again."

Shaking his head lightly, the younger man frowned in worry, heart thumping in sadness and pain at seeing his cousin like this; "But—"

"-Don't you think I tried to stop crying?" The Brit gave a breathy laugh, actual humour absent. It was bitter, and hollow; Matthew's heart shivered.

"What happened, Arthur?" Trying to keep his voice from trembling, the Canadian inquired, tone warm and gentle, hand still cupped around Arthur's damp cheek.

Arthur slowly moved a hand of his own, and wrapped it around Matthew's. Eyes fluttering open, he swallowed, and uttered in a weak, sorrowful voice:

"…Alfred and I…we…we aren't…we aren't…_together_ anymore, Matthew…"

There was a dread-filled silence before the Canadian wrenched his hand away and cried out, voice stark and on-edge.

"_…What did you just say?_"

Arthur winced, and hid his face in his arms.

"What-What do you mean you guys aren't together anymore?" Matthew asked, voice dropping slightly in volume but not in urgency and shock; "Didn't you just…back at the agency—"

"-No we—we didn't do anything…" The British man paused, "…I…I stopped him; I pushed him away."

"-B-But…" Matthew shook his head in confusion and almost in disbelief. _"…Why?"_

"I just…I just didn't want it to happen like that. Not…Not so _spontaneously_ as if—……He was-he was just horny, alright? He was just horny and so was I but-but _deep down_ I—I didn't want it; I didn't want our first time together to happen because we were just…we were just…I didn't want it to happen just because it was happening!"

Matthew suddenly hit a startling realization that, maybe, just _maybe_, deep down, Arthur was actually a romantic.

"I wanted it…_God I wanted it so much_, but I want it to be special too. You-You understand what I mean, right, Matthew? You know how I feel, right?" Arthur tilted his head up, and spoke in a hurt voice with an edge of desperation. He needed confirmation that what he thought was okay, that what he thought was normal.

He needed to know that what he thought was not wrong.

"What did…What did Alfred do?" The Canadian swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

"…He became angry…" The British man looked down, though his face remained partially visible; "He became angry and extremely offended…He thought I didn't want him, but I did! I wanted _him_ but I didn't want _it_! Just…not right at that moment…That's what I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen." Arthur's lips began to quiver, and a fresh wave of tears misted over his shiny eyes; Matthew briefly wondered if he was in fact fully sober. "I-I said I care about him, and that's why I didn't want it to just happen like some-some—…I didn't want to mess it up, not with him. He didn't understand, because to him, it was an act of love. His eyes—his eyes – _God, Matthew_ – his eyes, they were consumed by desire, they excited me but then he said—but then he said—" Voice breaking, eyes squeezing shut and tears washing down his cheeks, Arthur buried his face into his arms; "-then he said—'_I love you, Arthur! I love you!_'…But he looked like he just wanted a _fuck_!" Breaths hitching, his shoulders began to tremble, and sobs shook his body.

Matthew, stunned, did not know what to do, and simply sat there, back painfully straight and eyes unblinking. He highly doubted that was what Alfred actually looked like, but had no idea what Arthur saw under his perception.

"…What…What did you do then…?" He could only ask.

The British man sniffed, and rubbed his face with his sleeves. "I just…I just ran away."

Matthew gave a slow blink; "…_What…?_"

"…I just left him, and he didn't chase after me, so…so I came home…"

Completely dismayed by disbelief, the Canadian could hardly think. Too many thoughts screamed all at once for him to even begin to sort them out into something coherent.

"…W-Well…What do you-What do you plan to do now?" He finally managed to put together a question.

Arthur gave a pathetic sniffle; "What _can_ I do? I'm leaving for London in the morning."

"-_WHAT?_" Matthew shot up from his chair; it screeched against the floor, and fell.

The Brit jolted at the sharp exclaim, and looked away. "I-I have—There is a conference I must go to. I'm…I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Matthew—I wasn't planning on leaving till a little later but—"

"-That's not important right now! How can you—How can you even _think_ about leaving without saying anything to Alfred, eh?" When the other blonde did not answer, he pressed on insistently, hands slamming down onto the table; "_Arthur! You're not a coward!_ So why are you running away like one?"

"What if I want to run away?" Arthur shouted back, hands clenched into fists and eyes overflowing with tears; "I can't do this, Matthew! He's not—Look at us! We do nothing but argue half of the time, and spend the other half ignoring each other! We're not going anywhere with this relationship! We're not-We're not even—…We never even officially acknowledged face to face of our relationship yet, and he tells me he _loves me_?" He snapped his face away as if ashamed, as if not wanting his cousin to look, as if disgusted with himself; "Matthew…Look at us…He's handsome…charming…He can love anyone and they will love him. But I'm just…I'm just—…I'm just boring old Arthur with ugly eyebrows!" He cried out, lips quivering. Doubling over and hands covering his face, he wept, and Matthew's heart broke.

"I just…I just don't want to fight him anymore, Matthew…" It was hopeless admittance; "I-I know to all of you it might look almost affectionate but—but every time we fight I wish we didn't have to. And everyday when we wouldn't talk to each other because of our stupid arguments I get scared that he really will leave me…I'm just-I'm just sick of it!"

"Then why won't you just talk to him?" Matthew cut in, voice tight-strung and filled with emotions; "Is your pride so important as to—as to make all of this suffering worth it?"

"It's not about pride—"

"-Yes it is! Every time when you fight you always had the chance to drop it! Everyday when you wouldn't talk to each other you had the choice to take the initiative and make up with him! But you _didn't_!" Exasperated, the Canadian brushed both hands through his hair; "Arthur! Look at yourself! You're _miserable_ but you just won't acknowledge it! …Why are you so dense?"

Arthur didn't reply, and a heartrending silence filled the room.

"…You made up your mind already…didn't you…" Matthew's whisper was painfully loud.

Arthur nodded, face still hidden.

Matthew didn't know what to say. Of course he was feeling a million emotions swirling around in his head with compassionate anguish dominating all of them, but, at the same time, another feeling he couldn't quite figure out was strong.

He knew, since before the Natalia case, being told by Alfred, that Arthur was supposed to go to an event of some sort, and had wanted the American to go with him before the rather oblivious blonde did something incredibly dumb, but he didn't expect his cousin to just get up and leave so abruptly without previous notice. He was sure the Brit knew his flight time beforehand, so why didn't he say anything?

"…Arthur, I _know_ you care about Alfred; you said so yourself. So you can't—…_You just can't!_" He shook his head, begging for his stubborn cousin to change his mind; " …Sometimes you never have the second chance to let someone know you love them! Life doesn't wait for you! Sometimes they aren't always going to be there—"

"-Please don't compare this situation to that of your parents', Matthew."

…

…

…That hurt.

It struck deep.

Arthur did not, for once, look up at him.

For long moments, he couldn't believe his cousin had just uttered those words.

Matthew suddenly felt like he no longer knew the British man.

Without another word, he left the apartment.

…

Arthur was family…

…Arthur cared about him.

Arthur played with him while his mother was ill, too weak to leave the bed.

Arthur stayed with him during thunderstorms, telling him stories of magic and wonder.

Arthur tried his best to make good food when he said he was hungry at night, when, in truth, he was just lonely and scared while his father stayed at the hospital because the condition of his mother had gotten worse.

Arthur stayed strong when he silently wept, wanting to see his mother.

Arthur tugged him into his arms and shielded his eyes from the torn body of his father, despite of the fact that the damage had already been done.

Arthur held his hand as both of his parents were buried, and laid down a bouquet of white lilies at their graves.

Arthur visited him at the psychiatric hospital every chance he could, bringing him books though they would remain unread.

…

People didn't think he'd remember, as it was normal for a child to lose all memories of what happened around the time of such a traumatic event as to witness his own father being brutally killed in a horrible accident.

But he did; he remembered everything.

And Arthur knew, and spent many hours on the phone offering help when they could not physically see each other.

So why…why wouldn't Arthur let him help?

Why couldn't he help?

Why does he always have to be so helpless when misfortune happens to someone he cared about?

Stepping out onto the street, he took out his phone with shaky hands, blinking his eyes harshly as tears began to form, and called Francis.

The wind was cold; it froze him to the core, and he shivered.

"…_Bonsoir, mon ché—_"

Francis' voice, happy and pleasantly surprised, triggered something within him, and Matthew immediately burst into violent sobs.

There was a shocked silence on the other side.

"…Matthieu?" The Frenchman's voice was alarmed, and tense.

"Francis—Francis—" Crying and hiccupping, the Canadian could barely speak; all of a sudden everything came crashing down and he was so upset that it frightened him, because he did not know why he felt so betrayed.

"-Matthieu, where are you?"

"-I—I—"

"_Mon amour, mon ange_, please calm down. Tell me where you are; I'll pick you up."

"O-Okay…" Trying hard to stop his breaths from hitching, he stopped walking at the next intersection, and named the streets for Francis, who stayed on the phone with him until his car was parked right in front of the distraught Canadian.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:** Wow…I don't think there have ever been more French phrases used in any other chapters than this one…so I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if I put down something weird. CORRECT MEEEEH! Pls? D:

_mon petit chaton –_ my little kitten

…_C'est mieux, mon amour. –_ …That's better, my love.

_Il est très entêté, ce salaud..._ – He is very stubborn, that bastard… (Every time I see "salaud" I think of salad…I'm sorry don't hurt me! DX)

_mon chéri le plus cher, mon bel ange –_ my dearest darling, my beautiful angel

_Oui, je suis d'accord. –_ Yes, I agree.

_Quoi?_ – What?

_mon petit coeur de sucre_ – my little heart of sugar

_Bien sûr que non!_ _Matthieu! Je t'aime! Comment peux-tu dire ça? Tu blesses mes sentiments!_ – Of course not! Matthieu! I love you! How can you say that? You hurt my feelings! (;_;)

_Mais tu peux te rattraper, oui? Avec un baiser!_ – But you can make up for it, yes? With a kiss!

_Oh, tu es le meilleur amant au monde, mon petit Matthieu! Tu me fais tellement heureux!_ – Oh, you are the best lover in the world, my little Matthieu! You make me so happy!

…_Привет? –_ …Hello/Hi?

_Я сожалею –_ I'm sorry.

_Как дела? –_ How are you doing?

_Tu nous manques, mon ami. Au revoir pour maintenant et prends soin._ – We miss you, my friend. Farewell for now and take care.

_Bonsoir_ – Good evening (I remember my French teacher saying that this is like the evening/night version of "bonjour", is that true? I mean I might've remembered wrong but…could someone let me know please? :O)

Big thanks to _musicalsarelife_ and _radioactive edelweiss_ for French help, and _Anon._ for Russian Help! :D

**Ending Notes:** _DUN DUN DUUUUUN!_ Arthur! What are you doing? D:

If I were Matthew I'd tie good ol' Arthur up, call Francis up for a ride (on his disco stick~~ 8DDDD …sorry…), and take him to Alfred's to force the two to talk things out. But then again I'm not Matthew so…

Now another couple is torn apart by circumstance! Oh noes! What's going to happen to Arthur and Alfred's fragile relationship? What about the agency?

_All that and more on the next episode of Jones' Paranormal Investigation Agency._

Hey, don't say I didn't warn ya~ But I promise that this had to happen to make the development and the plot go along, so it's not unnecessary drama just to stir things up, though it might feel like it. I swear to God this happened for a reason! –grovels– Please don't hurt me! I have relatives in wherever you are! ;_;

Anywaaaays…More hints are dropped about Francis' past. As I was reading through the chapter, I actually found that I left more clues than I had initially thought I did through his little explanation dialogue spiel. More revelations regarding his life in Europe and his power will be coming up in the third case, which is COMING UP NEXT CHAPTER (which will be the first chapter posted in the new year; new case – new year, kinda fitting dontcha think? :D)! And you guys will finally get to know which country the remaining members of the team will be heading overseas to. ;)

I'll give you another hint as to where they're gonna go:

_There will be more Hetalia characters arriving into the third case. _They are an engaged couple, and both will only be appearing in the third case, as in, they will _not_ be following into the forth (which will be in _another_ country other than the States and the one in the third).

Well, with that said, I must admit – I enjoyed writing that tiny little kissing/groping/humping scene between Alfred and Arthur, which reminds me – the rating of this story will be getting bumped up soon, probably not next chapter, maybe the one after that or something. Hopefully y'all are all looking forward to reading that as much as I am to writing it, and I think it's pretty easy to figure out who will be getting lucky very soon~~ -wink wink-

Well, I should stop typing up huge paragraphs for ending notes. XD But I love exchanging thoughts with you guys! Which reminds me:

_Awesomeone_ (and all anonymous reviewers)_:_ I just found this out a few days ago too, but…_ blocks email addresses!_ D: Could you give it to me with spaces in the middle or something? That'd be great! Thanks! –hugs–

To everyone, meaning, all reviewers, subscribers, people who favourited and people who checks my story out:

I GIVE YOU THE BIGGEST THANKS! You guys make my days so much brighter when I'm having a rough time and always make me smile, and for that I'm seriously extremely thankful. I LOVE YOU—! –glomps–

So now, I will take the chance to wish you guys the awesomest upcoming year of 2010, and give y'all a big smooch!

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE! Y'ALL ARE COOL FOLKS!


	20. CASE3: Honda Estates, Intro Part 1

**Author's Notes:** Wow…the chapter titles are getting so long! LOL

Well, truthfully I don't have much to say here except THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH EVERYTHING!

And **happy reading**! ;)

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

Yao looked around the office, blinking in confusion at the heavy atmosphere.

Matthew and Francis sat in front of him on the opposite sofa. The Canadian's eyes were swollen, and wore clothing too big for his frame on his body. They looked suspiciously familiar, but Yao was sure that the last time he saw those clothes, they were not worn by the strawberry blonde. The Frenchman generally looked fine, as in, dressed in flashy but complimenting colours and brand names, but he looked a little sleep-deprived, and had an uncharacteristically sullen expression on his face. Every once in a while he would glance over at the smaller man he wrapped an arm around with worry.

What was even stranger, however, was how Alfred was.

Overall grumpy and snappish, he too looked sleep-deprived, and had semi-swollen eyes. He wore the same clothes as the day before, and was drinking beer instead of coffee when Yao arrived in the morning. When the Chinese man frowned and chided him for it, he actually threw the can across the room and yelled at his concerned friend to mind his own business.

He quickly apologized for it of course, and looked as though he had tears in his eyes, but he turned away too quickly for Yao to tell whether he had imagined it or not.

Sighing a little, annoyed that no one was telling him what was happening, he decided to break the silence.

It was getting on his nerves.

"I have a request for a case forwarded from my father in China, aru."

Alfred, perking up, pushed off from his spot leaning against the wall; a little of his usual sparkle returned to his eyes as a faltering smile appeared on his face.

"…Really? That's awesome!" He said excitedly; "What is it?"

The Chinese man hesitated a little; "Shouldn't we…wait for Arthur to arrive, aru?"

_Silence…_

The tension was so great in the air it was suffocating.

Seeing that neither Alfred nor Matthew wanted to say it, Francis cleared his throat and answered Yao's question: "Arthur has gone back to England this morning."

The dark-haired man stared; "-What?"

"He has a conference for the Occult that he has to attend."

Yao's frown deepened; "Why didn't he say anything, aru?"

At that Francis paused, glancing at Matthew and Alfred.

"I—I didn't know he was leaving this morning until last night, so I can't say—"

"-_I'll_ tell you why he didn't _say_ anything," Alfred's voice was heavy and dark; his stormy eyes were gazing out the window, harsh and angry. "He didn't say anything because he doesn't _give a shit_ about _any_ of us."

When Matthew didn't speak up to defend his cousin, Francis frowned, surprised but most of all concerned.

"Surely there is a more reasonable explanation for his choice, _non_?" The Frenchman tried to elevate some of the negativity; "We shouldn't just beat him down with a stick so quickly."

Alfred snorted; "We don't need an explanation; he isn't coming back."

"How are you so sure, Alfred?" Francis looked a little annoyed.

"'Cause he made it _pretty damned clear_ yesterday…" The American mumbled; "And why are _you_ defending him…"

Silence hovered in the air once more.

"…Well…" Yao gave a dry cough; "Then I guess I should start introducing the case, aru, and we can decide whether to take it or not."

When no one objected, he began in a professional tone of voice:

"This request was made by a very well-known politician in Japan…He is a personal friend of my father's." Taking out some files from a folder on the table, the dark-haired man started with a brief introduction. "The _Hondas_ are wealthy landowners, though they've sold or invested most of that land by now. The current head of family decided to pursue a career in politics, and because of that, especially since it is election year, we must remain anonymous, as well as extremely careful with our investigation. The media is watching the candidates for the upcoming election closely, so we cannot let anyone know what we are actually doing and cause any problems for Mr. Honda." Seeing that his team mates were at least listening intently, he continued. "Mr. Honda owns an estate in the countryside, where his family had moved to not long ago for a quieter lifestyle, not to mention they aren't watched by the media there. After moving, he decided a renovation was needed for the mansion since it was quite old, so parts of it were rebuilt. At first everything was fine; there were no strange occurrences. However, things all of a sudden got out of hand and turned dangerous. Exact details were not given. While no one was hurt, a lot of money went into ensuring the people involved in the incidents wouldn't talk about it to anyone, aru, which is why he is seeking help overseas instead of finding someone in Japan."

"So we get to go to Japan?" Alfred suddenly looked energetic and excited.

"Yes, aru, but—"

"_Oh sweet!_ I've never been to Japan before! Wait…" The American paused in his celebration, "Honda will be paying for our flight and stuff right?"

Yao nodded; "-Yes, but we won't be going there for a vacation, aru! We're—"

"Oh _man_ this keeps gettin' better and better!" A broad grin appeared on the cheering blonde's face. "Well, he _should_ pay for everything anyways, since he owns a huge car company and all."

Francis frowned; "I don't believe Yao said anything about—"

"There is more than one 'Honda' in Japan, aru!" The Chinese man face-palmed, but Alfred didn't hear him at all amongst his happy exclaims ("Do you think it's cold in Japan right now? I wanna bring _all_ of my Hawaiian shirts! Ya think the Japanese ladies'll like that? _Man_ I'm psyched!") despite of the fact that they were still contemplating whether to go or not.

However, as chatty as the American was, it was as if he was trying very hard to distract himself.

"Were you informed of anything at all about the case, Yao?" Francis decided to take the initiative and ask, since their usual leader was off in his own little world about sushi and Japanese women.

"There were a lot of the usual "doors slamming shut when no one is near them", "knocking sounds without a source", "roomfuls of furniture overturned in the blink of an eye", and "ghost lights seen at night" aru, but the most of that stopped for some reasons except for the "ghost lights" after the most recent incident, the one that Mr. Honda had to pay off many household employees to not spread rumours about…

…**that involved a menace that could chop people into pieces.**"

Matthew snapped his head up in shock from his previous daze. Alfred actually stopped mumbling to himself in excitement and turned around, eyes round and attentive.

Francis was equally surprised as both of them; "…I thought there were no casualties."

"No one was hurt fortunately, but that…_spirit_ sliced open tables and shelves with one strike while chasing after whoever met its way, aru…According to the ones who were there when it happened, it looked confused, which could be why it didn't actually hurt anyone. Right now, no one is staying on the estates anymore; they didn't want to find out what the spirit could do without the confusion, aru."

There was a pensive silence.

Sighing, the Frenchman ran both of his hands through his hair; "Why are we approached by a case like this as soon as Ivan leaves…"

"I don't think Ivan would do much good, aru." Yao frowned; "The spirit wears armour, and it seems to know martial arts quite well according to witnesses."

"…Not to be pessimistic, eh…" Matthew spoke up, looking apprehensive; "But…how are we supposed to deal with something like that? None of us are trained to fight _people_ let along dead ones; it might have other powers too, right?"

"Matthieu's right," Francis wore a solemn expression; "We won't do any good carelessly taking something outside of our abilities into our hands." Blinking, he suddenly looked very suspicious and hesitant, "I…_hope_ you aren't expecting us to engage in combat, Yao; the only kind of 'combat' I engage in is strictly within the bedroom, or wherever that is convenient at the moment for sharing _l'amour_."

There was an awkward silence as the other three in the room stared at the Frenchman, wondering if he was trying to joke. However, the long-haired blonde actually looked quite serious.

"…I donno how you can say somethin' that with a straight face, Francis…" Alfred broke the silence with a mumble. Heaving a loud sigh and plopping down onto the sofa beside Yao, the American sulked. "I was really hopin' that this'd help our financial situation too…not that any of you have to worry." Blue eyes narrowing and lips pouting, he looked around the room at his team mates, who all found interesting things to stare at around the room to avoid his envious gaze.

"…Especially you, Francis! I totally saw you in _Vogue_ the other day while I was at the store!" The American heatedly pointed an accusative finger at the man in question.

Francis lifted up an eyebrow: "_You_ read _Vogue_?"

Alfred's face immediately flamed up in embarrassment, "…I-I—…No! I—I heard some ladies talking when I walked by the magazine section and looked over their shoulders and-and then I saw you!"

The Frenchman hummed, and gave a lazy shrug with a small smile. "I must admit I _do_ look ravishing."

"…What's this about a magazine?" Matthew sat up straighter, suddenly very alert and curious.

"It was just a fashion spread, _mon chéri_." The Canadian chose not to point out how appearing in Vogue is not just a fashion spread. "Worry not; I was without partner."

"Yeah, without partner and _half naked_!" The American added on.

"-Half Naked—…?" The strawberry blonde, mouth agape, stared at his lover, who clearly didn't understand what all the surprised reactions were about, and spluttered.

"It was only one photo, mon amour, and they insisted, so I complied like a professional." He explained with a gentle tone patiently. Shifting his eyes, he gave Alfred a teasing look; "I saw no reason to not share my beauty with the world." He held up his hands, lounging back against the sofa, and looked as though he was posing for the camera.

"-B-But—" Matthew blinked and snapped out of his shock, "-That's not fair! _I_ don't even have a picture of you half-naked yet and now everyone who bought the magazine does!" He sent a displeased look to the older male, pursing his lips.

"That is only because of your—" Catching himself before blurting out sensitive mention of Arthur, Francis quickly changed tactics. Leaning forward and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, his voice dropped to a sensual whisper as his eyes shimmered most flirtatiously; "…Would you like to take half-naked pictures of me now, _mon petit Matthieu_~? Or perhaps fully naked will be more to your liking?"

The Canadian's face immediately reddened into a tomato. Squirming and trying not to look hopeful and expectant, he pushed back a nagging thought of the dream he had about the grass fields where the Frenchman was practically naked, which had been reoccurring much to his embarrassment.

"I…I didn't know you modeled, eh…" He said instead.

"I rarely do anymore," Francis replied, looking a little apologetic; "I'm sorry I didn't ask if it was okay with you."

"N-No, it's alright. I'm just…surprised, that's all." Matthew gave a small, shy smile back.

…_I have to get my hands on one of those magazines_…He told himself.

"You should at least introduce me, you know!" Alfred cut in, crossing his arms in front of his chest; "I can use some extra money now and then when business is slow."

"I didn't know you aspire to become a model, Alfred." Francis looked more amused than anything else.

"If you can do it, why can't I? There need to be more _American_ faces!"

"-Aru…" Yao interrupted tentatively, "…Shouldn't we focus on the request for our services?"

The three chattering blondes stilled, looking at the Chinese man.

Alfred gave a laugh, and scratched the back of his head. Matthew looked sheepish, and apologized. Francis simply nodded, though it was obvious that he was still very much amused.

"Regarding what we were talking about before we were interrupted by Alfred's unrelated remarks," Yao gave a pointed look at the American, who flashed a cheeky grin. Shaking his head, the slender male couldn't help but smile; it was nice to see their hero no longer in low-spirits and returning to his old self. "The paranormal occurrences only happen at night, so we can investigate during day time, aru. They are also limited to the mansion only, so we can stay in the side-house."

Matthew's eyes widened; "How many houses does a family need, eh?"

"The side-house was for household employees who wished to stay on the grounds in the older days when the mansion was built. The current employed help are from close-by towns; the night the first violent incident happened, coincidentally, there was an employee's party, aru, which is why a lot of people witnessed it as it happened as opposed to only the guards who patrol the area."

A contemplative silence filled the room as the four looked back and forth between each other.

Seeing the still reluctant looks in Matthew and Francis' eyes, Alfred spoke up in a somewhat pleading tone: "Come on, we can at least give it a shot, yeah? I mean…It's just that with the finances as they are, the agency could _really_ use a case." He grimaced, not liking how desperate he sounded.

"But we don't even know if we can do anything, eh?" The Canadian felt bad for pouring cold water onto Alfred's hopes, but it had to be said.

"We won't accept any payments until we get the job done." The American sat up straighter and held up a hand as if saying an oath.

"Yeah but…what about the airfare and living expenses?"

"Mattiiieeee~" Alfred whined, "You're worrying too much! We're practically doing _them_ a favour too you know."

"You may be surprised, but I actually agree with Alfred, aru. Most professionals in our occupation wouldn't even give this case a second glance, as potentially dangerous as it is." Yao said with a perfectly neutral tone, "Mr. Honda specifically said as long as we have a look, he will be very grateful, because it is one step closer to solution than nothing."

"And we'll try our best to solve it!" The messy-haired blonde beside the Chinese man added on enthusiastically, eyes glittering with encouragements.

Matthew bit his lips undecidedly. He never considered himself a good decision maker, and, after long moments of humming and fidgeting uncomfortably under Alfred's watchful and pleading eyes, he turned to Francis and asked:

"What do you think, eh?"

"I'm afraid I am…actually feeling surprisingly adventurous! I don't know what's gotten into me…" The Frenchman gave a slight shake of head in disbelief at himself, "Since there are precautions we can take to ensure safety, I think we should give it a shot, _non_? If monsieur Honda think having us take an assessment alone is worth flying us overseas, then I see no reason we shouldn't take his offer."

"…Yeah…" The Canadian murmured; "I guess-I guess I'm just…I'm just a little scared…" He admitted, cheeks tinting red. "…I think I've seen too many Japanese horror movies…"

"Awwww, don't worry Mattie! You have the _hero_ with you!" Alfred flashed one of his dazzling trademark grins and gave two thumbs-up.

Laughing a little, Matthew gave the "hero" a look of amusement, though, not knowing why, actually did feel strangely comforted.

Seeing the small smile tugging at the strawberry blonde's lips, Francis silently gave a sigh of relief. His little Matthieu had been so upset when he picked him up from a street corner last night, nose red and cheeks wet. After taking the distressed young man home, it took an entire hour of hushed whispers and soothing words in a tender voice, along with two cups of hot chocolate and the softest blanket the Frenchman owned to finally calm the Canadian down into restless sleep. He usually was quite good at bringing smiles to frowning faces and easing troubled hearts, but Matthew didn't even understand why he himself was so overtaken by sobs, which made everything a little tricky.

However, Francis was suspecting a reluctance of admitting what was actually wrong from his lover, which bothered him, but he knew when to push a little and when not to.

In all, seeing a smile brighten tired, gloomy expressions was enough for him for now. Tugging the smaller-framed man closer, he gave Matthew a kiss on both cheeks, and long, firm one on the mouth.

Yao looked away dutifully, though nibbled on his own lips in thought. Alfred didn't even try to be discreet with his jealousy; either that or he was just too oblivious to his own facial expressions. Crossing both arms across his chest, he sulked, sending envious glares at the couple sitting across from him with a pout.

Matthew, with growing awkwardness and discomfort towards the staring American, excused himself to water the potted plants around the office, mumbling to himself about finding a temporary home for them, as well as Ivan's fish, while they are away in Japan. Francis' eyes never left the Canadian, eyes beaming with affection and love, and also something naughty as he shamelessly shifted his gaze up and down along the other blond man's slim figure.

Feeling an overwhelming urge to whine and throw a tantrum like a (spoiled) brat, Alfred suddenly experienced a surge of overpowering sense of loss at the absence of Arthur. His nose felt sore, and he felt tears prickling his eyes.

Angry at himself for having un-hero-like emotions, he turned to the dark-haired man beside him.

Without warning, he threw himself forward and latched his arms around the Yao's slender frame with a sudden shout; **"—YAO!"**

"-A-ARU?" Yao visibly jumped and spluttered, so shocked that he didn't even struggle, dark eyes rounding into saucers, staring at the blonde who attacked him.

"Yao," With a more reasonable volume, Alfred continued, "Let's go sing Karaoke."

"…Wh-What, aru?" The Chinese man continued to stare blankly.

"Karaoke! You know. I just want to do _something_!" The American gave a big shrug; "You Asians like to do that all the time, don't you?"

Thinking back to the last time he had taken the blonde to Karaoke, Yao shuddered. Not wanting to relive that horrible episode of tone-deaf shrieking, he started to nudge the heavy body rudely invading his personal space.

"No, aru! I have to inform Mr. Honda of our decision, and you should start getting ready for the job!" With stronger pushes, he protested loudly as the blonde stubbornly held on.

"It'd only take you a minute to call and an hour for me to pack at most!" Whining loudly and cheekily, he pulled the thinner body closer.

"S-Stop it, aru!" Yao began to flush, crimson staining his cheeks as he grimaced in annoyance and embarrassment. "You need to pack the equipments too, aru!"

"That wouldn't take that long either! Come _oooon_!" Giving his best puppy eyes which always worked on Arthur, the American stuck out his bottom lip and pleaded with his large eyes; "_Pleeeeeeeaaaase_~~!"

The Chinese man stilled, and actually looked scared.

Hugging someone stiff and unmoving was not fun at all. Groaning and grumbling under his breath, Alfred let go of the dark-haired man whom he unceremoniously attacked. Yao quickly scrambled up from the sofa and sprinted away, looking back with apprehensive glances. Sending a dark look at the retreating figure, the American heaved a deep sigh, missing a certain snappy-mouthed British man even more.

Hearing a muffled chuckle from across from him, he turned the dark look to Francis, who bit back laughter, though amusement still swam in his eyes.

"Shut up!" Feeling grumpy, he barked out.

"I didn't say anything, _mon ami_." The Frenchman gave a shrug, pretentiously innocent.

"You were thinking it!" He didn't even try to stop the childish retort from leaving his mouth.

A sigh was his reply. The older male brushed a hand through blond silk that was his hair, and raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. "You will call Arthur tomorrow to let him know where we are going, _oui_?"

"Wh-What—NO! Why should _I_ call _him_?"

"That was not a question, Alfred." Francis gave a shrug and said in a matter-of-fact tone; "You _will_ call him."

"-Why should _I_—"

"Because I am sure he wants you to call, though he won't admit it." The look in the Frenchman's eyes was suddenly rather piercing despite of his casual expression, and Alfred found it hard to keep his gaze, line of vision falling to the floor.

"…Besides, Alfred," The American looked up as the smooth voice continued, "You are the leader, or _hero_ as you love to call yourself, of our team, so it is only natural for you to call our other members to inform them of our whereabouts, _n'est-ce pas_?"

Finding no sound argument to reply, the American nodded, grumbling under his breath.

Despite of how he acted, Francis knew that once Alfred agreed to do something, he will definitely do it. Even if he didn't quite understand why, he will simply follow through for his pride as a hero to face all challenges with bravery and keep all promises if not for anything else.

~o0o0o0o0o~

"Oh, _man_! I didn't expect to get first-class seats; this is awesome!" Alfred, trying to bounce on his butt in his seat and getting strange stares, exclaimed with a wide grin. Yao, sitting beside the excited blonde, turned to the window, and pretended to be looking outside though, in truth, was just trying to hide his face out of embarrassment.

Francis sighed, feeling awkwardly parental; he didn't enjoy that feeling as it made him feel old (he was only twenty-six!), but _someone_ had to put a stop to Alfred's ridiculous actions. Rubbing his temples, he was _not_ looking forward to the next twelve hours confined in a cabin with someone whose attention span could be measured in inches.

Matthew was engrossed in reading an article about possible health risk of consuming too much maple syrup (all lies!) in the newspapers, and, when Francis lightly tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped, gasping rather loudly and catching a flight attendant's attention.

"Are you alright, sir?" She asked, smiling prettily and politely, leaning forward a little in a slight bow of respect.

"-Errrm, y-yes, I'm fine…Thank you…" The Canadian gave a weak laugh, sinking back into his seat, a little embarrassed. On the other side of the aisle, Alfred bent over and tried to peer under the flight attendant's skirt as the woman bowed.

The flight attendant walked away, and Francis, muttering to Matthew about borrowing his newspapers, rolled them up, and swatted the giddy American on the head.

"OW!" Alfred hollered, glaring heatedly with pursed lips at the Frenchman, who looked quite smug. "What the hell was that for?" The Japanese gentleman sitting in front of the shouting blonde looked back disapprovingly.

Catching the look, the loud-spoken man gave a shaky smile and murmured an apology, absentmindedly rubbing the place where he got swatted.

Turning back to Francis, he hissed out in harsh whispers: "_What the hell was that for?_"

"You know what that was for." The newspaper was unrolled and smoothed out before it was handed back to Matthew, who by then already had his full interest and attention on his team instead of the article.

"_Geez_, Francis, you're supposed to be _French_!"

A slow raise of an eyebrow appeared on Francis' face as a strange, sharp glint entered his ocean blue eyes; "…Was that an insult, _mon ami_?" A small smirk tugged at his lips, and a few loose strands of golden hair fell, caressing his cheeks; he looked downright wicked, and Matthew found that to be oh-so arousing (_Oh get a grip on yourself, Matthew!_ He told himself, blushing).

Alfred stilled, and an almost leering grin replaced his angry pout.

"What if it is, Frenchman? What're you gonna do about it?" Jerking his chin up as if testing the longer-haired man across the aisle, he looked quite full of himself.

Francis' eyes narrowed; _no one_ questioned his French-ness without getting put back into their place.

_"_I will _show_ you what it means to be French,_ Américain_." Ocean blue met sparkling blue head on, and a feuding spark seemed to ignite between their hard stares.

"Bring it on, French bastard." Alfred's grin grew wider, showing all of his pearly white teeth.

Even Yao was watching intently, a hand meant to tuck long, dark hair back behind his ears raised in the air, but never fulfilling its purpose.

A simmering flame flickered tauntingly in the Frenchman's eyes.

_"Ohhh oui…I always liked the feisty ones…"_ With a low, husky timber, Francis spoke softly, and inwardly grinned in pleasure as he felt a certain strawberry blonde take in a small gasp.

It was his bedroom voice after all.

Even Alfred's arrogant expression faltered a little, but he quickly recovered. "So what's it gonna be, huh? I haven't all day."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the impatient tone and break the gaze, Francis suggested with a purr: "How about a challenge?"

"I never back down." Alfred answered, leaning forward as if claiming offense.

_"Très bien_," Francis mirrored the action, and the two found themselves breaths away from each other, eyes blazing with provocative confrontation, daring the other to back down, both wearing similar mischievous leers. "Whoever guesses the right colour of undergarments for the next flight attendant walking by wins."

Yao face-palmed.

"You're on!" With that, the two broke apart, but only to allow a poor, unsuspecting victim to walk through the aisle.

"What do I get if I win?" Alfred, crossing his arms, looked as though he had already won.

"Whatever you wish," Francis also looked equally as confident as he carelessly tossed out a statement; "If I win, I want you to give Arthur a phone call; we still have twenty minutes before takeoff."

_"Awww, man!"_ The American grimaced; he thought Francis had already forgotten about it (he wanted to call Arthur once they reach Japan just to rub it in his face—er, to let him know they were safe). "Fine! If_ I _win, you have to wear the same outfit for an entire week!"

The Frenchman actually visibly winced; "You don't hold back at all, do you,_ Américain._"

"Hey, I gotta find something that's the same as calling up angry wizard British man for me to you." Alfred stuck out his tongue before a huffed laugh broke through; "What, ya wanna admit defeat?"

_"Pas question!_" Francis regained his confident demeanor, and, just as he spoke, a flight attendant appeared at the front of the roll.

She was slim, but had good curves. Long, black hair tied back into a perfect bun, she looked a little timid, and was very soft-spoken. With a sweet smile on her lips, she conversed with a lady sitting in the first roll of the first class cabin.

Alfred hummed, eyes narrowing in thought. "Striped cotton with pink ribbons." He said, brisk and certain.

"Black satin with black lace." Francis murmured, also just as certain.

The flight attendant finished talking with the lady in the front roll and began to walk down the aisle.

"…But how are you supposed to—" Before Matthew even finished his question, it all happened at once.

The young lady, in quick steps, approached their roll. Just as she was about to make her way past them, with a careful, concealed flare of wrist, Francis dropped his handkerchief onto the floor and immediately shot out his arm after it to retrieve the fallen fabric.

The girl yelped in fright and surprise. Unable to stop in time, she jumped, trying to leap over the outstretched arm, but failed miserably and tripped on her feet. She fell over with a dull thud, butt sticking up in the air and legs slightly parted.

The two blondes quickly leaned in for a peek, and saw distinctly a black pair of satin panties with black lace trims along its edges.

The flight attendant hurried back onto her feet and apologized with fast bows to the Frenchman, who, with a charming smile, nodded and assured that he was alright, making sure to express concern over any possible injuries she might have gotten from the fall like a true gentleman.

Alfred only stared, dumbfounded, at the flustered young woman.

Matthew and Yao didn't need to peek between her legs to know who won.

After a few moments, the working lady walked away, and Francis turned to the still blankly staring American, many times more pleased and smug.

"…I…I can't believe it! She looks like such a cute type of girl!" Alfred blinked rapidly and shook his head, still in disbelief.

"I hope you don't plan to go back on what was agreed, _mon ami_." The older male said, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Scowling, the American sent an annoyed look over the aisle; "Fine; fine! I'll call Arthur! I just hope he hasn't changed his number…" However, he didn't sound too worried about that as he took out his phone.

"There is something else you need to say to someone before that, _Américain."_

Groaning, Alfred ruffled a hand through his messy hair, and grumbled; "Fine…I take back what I said about you; you're French and superior, happy?"

"Very." Francis chuckled at the sour look the other blonde sported, and waved towards the phone; "You should hurry along with it."

Sighing, Alfred went through his contact list, and quickly (or rather more like right away since the name he was looking for started with an "A") found Arthur. Gulping, he pressed the "call" button, heart beating loudly inside his chest as the dialing tone began to ring.

…_Don't pick up don't pick up don't pick up don't pick up don't—_

"-Hello?"

_-fuck._

There was silence.

"Oh shit! Did I say that out loud?"

There was a click as Arthur hung up.

"Damnit!" Alfred grimaced. Stealing a few looks at the Frenchman, he shifted in his seat; "Uhhh…so…I called him, yeah?"

"Call again, Alfred." Francis rolled his eyes. _Honestly…_

Muttering crossly under his breath, the bespectacled blonde called once more.

This time the dialing tone only rang once before it was picked up.

_"-What?"_ A familiar, British-accented voice shouted through, and Alfred jumped.

_"Damnit, Arthur! _You almost made me deaf, you know!" Yelling back equally as loud, the American glared at the phone. When there was no reply, he quickly pressed it to his ear once more, fearing Arthur hung up again. "…Hello?"

"…What do you want?" The Brit sounded irritated, though there was a note of hopeful expectancy.

"Well, uhhh…" Glancing at his team mates, who were all looking at him attentively, he sighed._ No pressure, huh…_ "Look, I just…I just want to say…about what happened—"

"-Don't say it. You are only going to make it worse, _Jones._" The cutting tone was back in full blast, along with a biting snarl.

_Ouch._

"Look, hear me out, man! Don't shoot me down before you even hear what I have to say!"

"I _know_ you are going to say something incredibly _stupid_!"

"Yeah well you aren't makin' it any easier so—" Yao gave his arm a slap, and he hissed; the Chinese man sure can hit hard for his size. Sending the slender male an annoyed look, he continued, voice softer and more pleasant to the ears:

"Alright…Look, Arthur," Rubbing his nose with his vacant hand, his vision blurred a little as his glasses slid down; "I'm just…I guess I'm just…What I'm trying to say is just that…" Sighing and mustering up all his determination, he blurted out: "-Look, I'm sorry, aright? I shouldn't have said what I did. It was just bad timing, that's all. You-You know I always say things at the wrong time, and this was just like any of those other times, yeah? So don't take it the wrong way and go around telling yourself a bunch of completely untrue thoughts. I meant what I said though, and it has never changed and—"

_"-Are you drunk?"_

Alfred blinked.

For silent moments, he thought he'd heard wrong.

As much as he hated to admit it, that statement hurt, _a lot_.

He was sincere, and spilling his heart out as well as he could.

And this was Arthur's answer?

Was he—…Was he _ever_ taken seriously after everything that had happened _at all_?

Apparently he was not the only one who said things at the wrong time.

Swallowing down the sting, he concentrated on the rising anger.

"No," Tone suddenly uncharacteristically cold and bitter, he replied: "I'm on the plane going to Japan, _Kirkland_." He paused, and there was only silence.

Taking that as a sign he should continue, he did; "As the leader of the team I'm calling to inform you that we'll probably be gone for a while. Your absence is missed, but we won't be needing you, so don't come find us after your conference is over and waste your _precious time_." The last part was hissed, and he almost wished he hadn't said it.

There was no reply. For painfully long moments Alfred just sat there, staring into space and waiting for the British man to speak.

In the end, there was a click, and the call ended.

The American, posture tense and expression hard, put the phone back into his pocket.

Matthew, still looking stunned over what just happened, cried out in alarm: "What are you doing, eh? Call back! Call back now!"

"No."

Shaking his head in frustration, the Canadian pressed on; "Do you have any idea what you just did? You _have_ to call back!"

There was no reply.

"Alfred!"

"-Why do I always have to do the chasing, huh?" The American snapped out, eyes blaring with pushed back fury; "It's _because_ I always end up apologizing for everything even if it's not my fault that he _never takes me seriously_! I told him I _love him_, Mattie, and he just ran off! _What the fuck's up with that?_ He needs to know that he can't just do shit to me and expect me to take it all the time! _I'm fucking sick n' tired of kissing up to his pissed-off ass!_"

"Alfred-"

There was a nasty slap as Matthew gasped, hands flinging up to cover his lips, eyes wide open and unblinking.

Francis had shot up from his seat in a split of a second and backhanded Alfred in the face.

The American's glasses fell off, and landed in his lap.

The whole cabin was silent, and the other passengers pretended to either be asleep or intently reading newspapers or magazines.

Yao was completely motionless, lips pressed tightly together.

When the Frenchman spoke, his voice was low, firm, and almost frighteningly menacing.

_"I did not spend an entire night holding my restless, upset lover in my arms and worrying over both you idiots to witness your stupidity soar to a whole different level, Alfred F. Jones."_

Alfred, face still turned away, did not stir.

"_Merde!_" Taking a deep breath, Francis combed both hands through his hair, "That British fool is one thing; you are completely another! Have you learnt _anything_ in these past few months?" Shaking his head, blond strands waving and shimmering, the Frenchman explained in equal passion: "_Arthur_ is a cynical pessimist! _Arthur_ argues with you and then ignores you because underneath his tough, stuck-up attitude _he is insecure_! _He needs you_ to chase after him to _reassure himself_ that you will always be there, _with him_!" He suddenly looked agitatedly confused. "I don't understand you people;" Matthew briefly wondered if that meant anyone who isn't French; "-Is it really that hard to see? _L'amour_ isn't an enigma, but it will be unattainable if none of you refuse to be so _dense_!"

"…Yeah well—" Alfred perked up defiantly, "-What's _he_ got to be insecure about? He's good-looking and got a rich-ass family and everything goin' well for him—"

Francis cut in with a frustrated sigh; "Alfred! He is the sole heir of a wealthy, ancient family! Do you have _any idea_—Families like that—_Who knows_ what he's been through in life until now! When you are in a situation like that you have-you have—you go through things that no child should _ever_ have to—" He immediately paused, forcing back his upcoming words; Matthew noted the small change, but did not voice out his worried curiosity as it was not a good time. "…Have you not noticed how awkward he can be interacting with other people? He becomes ridiculously angry the instance anything he doesn't like hearing about comes into—_his eyebrows_! They are obvious enough for even _you _to notice! Have you not seen the way he looked at them? He can _murder a man_ with the way he glares as soon as a comment about them is made!"

"-What are you even talking about—What's wrong with his eyebrows? They look fine to me—"

"Let him know that! _Mon Dieu!_"

"I did!"

"_Non, tu ne l'as pas fait! Tu as tapoté ses sourcils et n'as rien dit!_" Francis waved his hands in the air, eyes flashing in exasperation, which was growing greater as Alfred just stared at him blankly.

"…Err-Errmm Francis…Speak English, eh…?" Matthew tentatively reached over and touched the Frenchman on the arm, voice hesitant and quiet.

It was as if the standing, ranting blonde had just realized he was talking in French. Giving a deep sigh, he shook his head, and turned to sit back down in his seat.

"…I wouldn't be this worried if Matthieu weren't affected by this, just so you know." A displeased look was thrown towards the American, who gave a grunt.

"Look who's talking…_you_ called Arthur '_monster eyebrows'_!" The comment was tossed out more like a protest.

"And you wonder why he is not in love with me." Francis replied dryly, tone even and voice leveled.

For the rest of the flight, Alfred remained silent, and refused ice packs for his red and swollen cheek.

…_Doesn't that French bastard know he's wearing leather gloves?_

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

_n'est-ce pas?_ – no? right? isn't it?

_Pas question!_ – No way/Not a chance!

_Merde! – _A swear word…LOL I think it means "Shit", but in this instance I'm thinking it's more of a "Damnit"? How do you say "Damnit" in French? Can someone help me please? Pretty please? ;_;

_Non, tu ne l'as pas fait! Tu as tapoté ses sourcils et n'as rien dit! –_ No, you did not! You patted his eyebrows and said nothing! (Please correct me if it's wrong!)

Many thanks to _Capitain Pickle_ and _radioactive edelweiss_ for helping me with my French! :D

**Ending Notes:** I GAVE THE WORST HINT EVER LAST CHAPTER! D: I totally fcked up man; I'm so sorry! I donno what the hell I was thinking. –beats self with a stick–

Anyways…Ahem…Yes, they're going to Japan, and, if you haven't guessed by the name of the third case already, yes, Kiku is going to be making an appearance! A frequent one at that too. Someone else will be appearing as well, who's a girl and his fiancée, who I completely FORGOT (wtf's wrong with me AAARRRGGHH!) was NOT actually in a relationship with Japan in the actual series…–flails–

Sorry about that…I'm in a bit of a hurry, but I had to get that out there…

I didn't say how Alfred fount out about Arthur leaving on purpose; I like to think that I insinuated that Arthur called him or something, but it's probably so vague that no one caught onto it...XD

And with that said…Arthur and Alfred, not cool, man! Not cool! The both of you! –shakes head– But Alfred will see the error of his ways…after a few hours of self-reflection.

I donno how politics work in Japan, nor have I ever actually been there, so there's probably gonna be stuff made up, though I'll try my best to make them at least seem believable of course. If there's something weird, I apologize in advance for them.

…I want to play "guess the underwear" with Alfred and Francis…it seems fun…though…I guess the two of 'em won't be playing _that_ in a while after the whole "backhanding" incident…

ANYWAAAAIZ…8D

Oh man, thank you guys SO much for all the reviews and support! I'm not worthy! –bows– Seriously I feel so honoured that you guys enjoying reading this story – it means everything to me; y'all truly make me so happy, and for that I can't thank you enough. …If I'm being sappy, shaddap! –tackles–

Oh! Oh! More characters will be arriving into the story with Arthur in England! I'd like, _totally_ give you guys a hint, but like, it wouldn't be cool 'cause like, I want it to be like a surprise and stuff, so like, you guys will just have to wait! But O. M. G. Lemme tell you it's gonna be like the most awesomest and fabulous surprise _ever_, like, to the max!

…I want those_ Vogue_ pictures of Francis. 8D


	21. CASE3: Honda Estates, Intro Part 2

**Author's Notes: **There's a surprise at the end—!

But y'all have to wait and read before finding out what it is. ;p

C'mon kids, no cheating, 'kay~~? 8D

With that said, **HAPPY READING—!** –glomps– …Oh…sorry…I'll un-latch myself from your and let you read now. XD

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

Arriving in Tokyo, everyone's mood improved tremendously.

It must've been the thrill of going to a completely different place. Despite of trying to remain professional, Matthew wore a big, happy grin on his face, and his steps had a small bounce to them as he followed his team heading out of the airport building.

As soon as they'd come out through customs and gotten their luggage, they were greeted by a young man dressed in a set of white suit and pants, followed by a group of men in black ones.

The young man's name was Kiku. He wore a blank, but respectable expression that was only broken when he spoke to Yao, whom he spared a small, warm smile to. Later on the Chinese man explained to his team mates that they had met numerous times growing up while Yao had been in Asia.

Kiku was slim, proper, and had an air of refinement about him that made Matthew feel as though he should be treated delicately. However, there was a firm glint in his almost dull eyes that spoke of determination, quiet strength, and a strong will. His hair was straight, and cut neatly to frame his face. His posture was that of formality.

After brief introductions, Matthew learnt that Kiku was, in fact, Mr. Honda the politician and wealthy-landowner's son, and had been sent by the older man of the house to take the team on a brief tour of the city before a long drive to the countryside, where the estate was. A few cordial words were exchanged, in the midst of which an awkward episode of an excited Alfred attempting to pull the Japanese man into a hug happened (Kiku looked horrified and managed to evade it). Not a moment after, the team set out to a new adventure with the men in black insisting to take their luggage and bags.

As soon as they stepped out of the door of the main building, a horde of camera men and reporters with microphones surrounded them, chattering loudly and asking questions.

Several crowded around Matthew, who let out a few flustered "eh?"s and scooted closer to Francis, who actually didn't look all that bothered by the attention.

Alfred, another one who enjoyed being put under the spotlight, was exclaiming in a loud voice with hands on his hips and chest huffed up of his proud American heroism with bright, shiny eyes when Yao yanked him away and sent him a glare, which was quite threatening and shut the blonde up for good.

The men in black began to push the media aside, while Kiku, with a polite but cool smile, addressed the cameras and microphones shoved in his face with small bows and a clear voice.

Of course none of the team really knew what was being said, but it was clear that the situation was nothing new to the young Japanese man.

Eventually they made it to the opened door of a black, sleek limousine. Filing into it, Matthew sighed in relief, glad to be hidden away from the cameras. As everyone made it inside the very spacious car and settled down, Kiku turned to the foreigners and gave a slight bow of head.

"I apologize for the trouble," He spoke softly, but distinctly, "I am afraid that as long as we are in Tokyo, or any city, they will be everywhere we go."

"It's okay, aru; we understand." Yao nodded, giving a warm smile.

"I also apologize in place for my father, who could not personally welcome you to Japan. He is more closely watched by the media, as well as the other candidates, since the election is very near, so it would not be wise to meet him."

"…It must be hard being a politician, eh?" Matthew rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

Kiku turned his dark eyes and met his gaze; "Yes, it is, but it must be done. My father wishes to do good things for the world, starting with his homeland, and as do I." A small, kind smile softened his features a little; "So it is a willing sacrifice." He added on.

Matthew felt a little immature at asking such a question. He gave an awkward laugh and nodded.

The Japanese man actually looked amused for a split second before his expression changed back to his previous blankness.

"I have a story prepared for you should you be confronted by a personnel of the media while I am not present," Double-checking that everyone was listening attentively (Alfred, looking out the window absentmindedly, was swatted on the arm by Yao), Kiku continued: "You are here strictly to attend the engagement celebration banquet held for my fiancée Wang Mei and I. Yao, being a direct family member and one of the guests of honour, had arrived early for a lengthier visit—"

"-Wait! Hold on!" Alfred interrupted, looking quite serious.

All eyes turned to the American, who turned to Yao, eyes round and mouth agape; "You have a _sister_?"

Yao sighed, and Matthew groaned, knowing a tirade before he heard one. Francis kept quiet, but rolled his eyes.

"_Man_, if she looks like you but just with boobs then she must be pretty hot! I mean, Arthur's great and all, but I don't like to limit myself to only 'one side of the fence', _if you know what I mean_." The American gave a suggestive wiggle of the eyebrows that was quite vulgar by nature and leaned towards the Chinese man, who was looking more uncomfortable by the second sitting beside him; "And I'm totally up for settlin' down too, ya know! Marriage is the _shit_!" Yao squirmed and tried to scoot away. "The hero is always in high demand of course, but you're like my bro! I'd give you priority in a heartbeat!" The energetic blonde leaned in even closer, and flashed a toothy grin. "So uh…you got any other sisters?"

"No, aru! Stop pushing against me!" Yao really wished that Ivan or Arthur were there to save him.

"_Damn_…you got any brothers then?"

"No! …Well, yes but…No! You are embarrassing our agency, aru!" Giving Alfred a hard stare, the dark-haired man pursed his lips; "…I'm not Arthur, aru."

Alfred's cheeky expression slowly dropped.

Matthew felt bad for the American, who had been quite restless and agitated as of late.

Alfred blinked a few times, and leaned away, line of vision lowering. He watched his hands fiddle with each other, and did not reply.

Kiku, not knowing exactly what was going on, took that as a sign to continue on what he was saying before he was interrupted:

"Back to the story prepared – you are to say that you are also invited to the banquet, and, being close friends with Yao and I, have arrived early as well. If you are asked about how you know of my family, simply say Yao had introduced you to me when we were young." Seeing nods from the team, the Japanese man added on: "It would still be best to politely refuse their questions or keep your answers short and try to evade them. Your efforts will be appreciated. Thank you." He bowed a little.

Francis nodded in understanding; Alfred mumbled an "Ok". Yao smiled and spoke a "No problem". Matthew, mimicking Kiku the best he could, bowed back, and muttered an "I understand".

Kiku seemed to appreciate the efforts, and gave the Canadian a small smile.

The drive heading downtown was relatively silent. Matthew dozed off for a while, leaning against Francis, who looked quite comfy and pleased, happily wrapping his arms firmer around the smaller man. Yao conversed with Kiku every once in a while, asking about his family and other friendly questions. Alfred eventually decided to lie down on the long seats, pretending to have fallen asleep, but the lack of light snores made it clear to the others that he was quite awake, though he probably wished he wasn't.

Looking at Matthew and Francis made his heart clench with sadness and jealousy, which were emotions he liked to avoid. The Canadian and the Frenchman were like a mirror, or rather, an idea of what he and Arthur could've been, but somehow just never managed to achieve.

His phone suddenly felt heavy in his pocket, and his fingers itched to grab it and call the British man. However, it was not good timing; he decided that waiting a few more hours once they reached the Honda estates and settled down wouldn't hurt.

Once they arrived at city center, the semi-silence was broken and an excited chatter settled over the team.

The streets were bustling with life. Windows of tall buildings reflected the light of a sunny day, dazzling and beautiful. Bright, colourful banners and signs lined the sides of the streets. Restaurants, cafés, big department stores, and many other countless types of business shops thrived with life as people in sophisticated work clothes, casual wear, school uniforms, and sometimes downright peculiar street fashion walking in and out of their doors.

Matthew didn't dare to blink, staring and feeling almost overwhelmed by the scenery.

Francis, however, seemed to enjoy watching the beaming happiness sparkling in the Canadian's round, clear eyes more, wearing a warm smile of his own.

Alfred was heard saying "Wow!", "Whoa…!", "Look at that!", and many other variants of exclaims.

"This is like New York, but _Japanese_!" He said excitedly.

His statement did not rouse a reply, but he was too busy looking around to care.

They were taken to a high-class Japanese restaurant recommended by Kiku for an in-between meal. Dodging another horde of media folks, they managed to make it into the restaurant without much hassle, and marveled at the stunning interior design.

Matthew felt horribly underdressed, and suddenly understood to some extent why Francis was dressed up all the time.

You just never know what situation you might find yourself in.

However, as soon as the food arrived, all self-conscious thoughts were thrown out the window as his stomach growled in protest of being empty for a lengthy while.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Rain drizzled in Cottborough, England.

It was this weather that annoyed Arthur the most. He'd much rather have a thundering rainstorm than some heavily overcast day irritatingly rainy but was not rainy enough to deserve an umbrella.

_Make up your damned mind already!_ He wanted to yell at the sky, which was dark and gloomy. It did nothing for his mood, which made his stomach churn uncomfortably and his head throb.

The stab wound from the Natalia case stung a little; it tended to do that whenever it rained.

It reminded him of Alfred, which didn't help the angry scowl on his face to fade.

Stupid bugger…he took a goddamn knife in the back for him! And all he had to say on the phone was—

Arthur shook his head, wet tips of his hair sticking to his cheeks.

He promised himself to never think about it again, or, at the very least, not until the conference is over.

Walking briskly down a cobblestone sidewalk and wearing only a long, black coat to shield him from the elements, he put his hands into his pockets, and tried to snuggle his ears against the fuzzy scarf he had around his neck.

Maybe he should've brought an umbrella after all, since the rain began to drizzle harder.

_Stupid rain…_

As much as he wanted to turn on his heels and seek shelter back at the hotel reserved for the tri-yearly event, his wounded pride would not let him. He knew that, as soon as he returned, he'd see Andreas Thorne's insufferable face split into an insufferable grin.

Whoever arranged and assigned the rooms, he was going to kill him.

The first familiar face he saw upon arriving at the hotel was the slimy little man's face, and the first "hello" he got was "your eyebrows grew bushier, Arthur; they are still much livelier than you, I see".

A second after that greeting statement was made Andreas Thorne got a punch in the face.

His bad start only got worse when he checked into his room.

Walking down the hall, his stomach hurled in disgust as he saw the same slimy little man leaning against the door frame of the room next to the one he was to stay in. The slimy little man was talking to someone they both knew well, whom Arthur had a crush on many years ago.

A few banters later, Andreas Thorne received another punch in the face before the fuming Kirkland threw the door to his room closed behind him.

Then there was the horrible dinner where all the attendees of the conference sat around a big, round table, chatting in pleasant murmurs and sharing interesting stories of the past three years where many of them didn't see each other at all.

Arthur sat alone, twirling a glass of wine and feeling more frustrated by the second as the gesture reminded him of a certain Frenchman, who reminded him of a certain agency, which reminded him of a certain American who was the biggest bloody idiot in the history of idiots.

He wasn't very hungry because he'd had a big lunch; or it could be that his stomach was doing flip-flops out of nervousness for the upcoming complicated ritual he had to do where he could very easily humiliate himself and his family by boldly attempting to do it all by himself.

_Damnit…_He needed something stronger than this measly wine.

But he chucked it down anyways, and curtly waved a waiter close to get another glassful.

_Actually…_ "Leave the bottle." He didn't bother being polite, and the waiter frowned, but did as he was told.

Maybe if he drank enough, he'd feel the need to go to the bathroom and leave the almost suffocating room (as spacious as it was).

It was never like this; he'd always enjoyed attending the conference as its contents greatly interested him, despite of slimy little Andreas, but he'd always been accompanying his father, whose company he dutifully kept. Unfortunately the old man was not here this time; it was then he started to realize how he really didn't even have anyone to chat up and pretend to give a damn about.

They were colleagues, but many were jealous of the vast resources and collections of old books his family kept hidden deep in their underground library.

He was alone, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he was a little intimidated.

He was just starting to feel a slight need to pee when slimy little Andreas sauntered over with his usual smile which was always insufferable.

Andreas Thorne had changed a lot since the last time they'd seen each other. In fact, he was almost a completely different person every time they happened to see each other. The man had an androgynous and versatile enough face to easily change his appearance to alarming degrees with makeup, hair dyes, and God-awful, flamboyant clothes. This year, he had style similar to what many referred to as "the peacock age", and had his hair dyed red and in tight curls.

_What the hell was going on in that head of his when he got that hair_…Arthur thought sourly, grimacing.

Despite of how Thorne had grown out of his slimy, little self, to Arthur, he was always going to be that slimy, little self.

Downing another glassful of wine, the green-eyed blonde turned his eyes to the opposite wall as soon as the redhead stopped to stand beside him.

"A_hem_," Even Thorne's voice was slimy, "I believe you owe me an apology, Kirkland."

"Bugger off, Thorne. Or better yet, go bugger _yourself_."

He grabbed the wine bottle and took a swig.

Screw the glass.

"So uncivilized for the sole inheritor of such an old, respectable family," Thorne gave a dry, haughty sniff.

"So downright repulsive for the son of a close friend of that old, respectable family." Arthur tilted his face a little just to send a dark glare to the redhead.

"I was merely kidding around with you and you punched me twice in the face, even for you, those were much uncalled for."

Thorne was right to some extent; they _were_ a little uncalled for, though he _did_ feel a lot better about the whole situation with Alfred after he gave those punches.

When the slimy, little man didn't go away like he had expected, he realized that he was waiting for a reply.

Damn…was he getting drunk already…?

He hadn't noticed.

The bottle was too empty, so he waved over another waiter.

"Well?"

Ignoring the slimy, little man, he took another swig.

_Why isn't he going away?_

"Why aren't you going away?" He decided to speak out his thoughts.

"I don't understand why you are so hostile towards me, Arthur. We used to be good friends when we were young."

There was a tense pause as the one sitting down stiffened.

"…You _know_ why."

Arthur's voice was bitter, and coldly biting.

"We were never _friends_, you bloody wanker." A scoffing chortle of sarcastic laughter followed his statement. "Don't make me laugh. You're faker than your face."

It wasn't until he was bent over on the floor, retching out his newly consumed wine onto the carpet did he notice that the slimy, little bastard had actually pulled him up by the collars of his shirt and punched him in the stomach.

He then fled the dining room in stomping steps, trying to pretend he didn't feel the many pairs of eyes staring into his back. He didn't know if it was because he was a little tipsy, but he felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

Embarrassment, mixed with shame and self-condescending disgust, made him suddenly miss _Alfred_ of all people.

Why didn't Alfred fly in through the window like those heroes in American comic books wearing something hideously ridiculous yet sinfully tight, beat the crap out of slimy, little Andreas Thorne, and carry him away to his hotel room where they will make passionate love all the way till the next morning?

Water splashed as he stepped into a puddle.

Deciding he was feeling hungry and that his hair was becoming too drenched from walking around outside, he turned and walked into the first diner-and-bar he saw.

As soon as he entered the little place, warmth, mixed with a hint of sweat and cologne, enveloped him. The smell of alcohol was strong, but the place felt friendly.

Men and women, some still in work clothes and some dressed in casual evening wear sat around the small, but comfy place, having drinks, munching on finger food, and conversing happily.

Arthur felt a genuine smile tug on his lips; this was what he needed.

Finding a place in front of the bar, he waited patiently for the bartender to finish mixing a drink for a rather gruff-looking gentleman.

She was pretty, with straight, shoulder-length blond hair cascading neatly like a waterfall around her heart-shaped face, and sparkly, light green eyes shinning in the dimly-lit diner. She wore a pink hairclip in her hair, with matching lip-gloss on her coyly smiling lips. Her makeup was in fresh colours that reminded Arthur of spring with pinked cheeks. Her little shirt with ruffled sleeves clung to her figure snuggly, but was not overly tight. She was quite flat in the chest, but had a perky little bottom that was barely concealed under a short, fluffed up skirt, which was also pink.

Handing the gruff-looking gentleman his drink, she turned, and caught his eyes.

She gave him a wink, and he wondered why his cheeks felt so hot.

Walking over with a slight sway of her hips, she stopped in front of Arthur, leaning over the bar counter and giving him a flirtatious smile.

"You're like, totally _cute_!" A smooth, but very much male voice left her glossy lips.

The shock Arthur felt must've shown on his face, for she – err, _he_ giggled and gave the stunned British man an affectionate smack on the cheek.

"I bet you like, _totally_ didn't expect that I'm a guy!" Placing slender hands with perfectly manicured fingernails on top of his chest, the very much male bartender gave another giggle, flashing pearly white teeth with a mischievous grin.

"…Erm…N-No…I…You took me by complete surprise." Arthur, a little embarrassed but feeling quite amused himself, laughed.

His cheeks felt a little tense, as if unused to making pleasant expressions, and he almost felt sad, but the bartender spoke again.

"I'm Feliks, spelled F-E-L-I-K-S; isn't it, like, such a totally awesomely cute name? I'm, like, totally over the 'X'es 'cause it's like '_ew_' and not Polish, and _in_ with the L-I-K-S!" Looking completely full and proud of himself, Feliks flipped his hair with a hand, hips jutting out to one direction. His fluffy skirt flung in the air, and Arthur wondered if the cross-dressing man was wearing pink for underwear as well.

"That's wonderful, Feliks." Arthur suddenly felt much lighter in spirits for some reasons, and smiled.

Feliks blinked, and quirked his head to one side; "You're seriously _really cute_! What's your name?"

"I'm Arthur."

"Arthur? That's so boring and old-ish! You need like, more _sparkle_ in your name."

Arthur felt a little offended, but, at the same time, curious of what Feliks was going to come up with.

"Something like…" Feliks puckered his pink lips, and hummed. He suddenly gasped, startling the British man a little, and clapped his hands together in excitement: "_O! M! G!_ I have like _totally_ the _perfect_ name for you! Ready?"

Arthur nodded.

"How about—_Little Artie the Pixie Sprinkle_!"

Arthur was speechless and still; he only stared.

Feliks mistook his disbelief and astonishment for confusion:

"Well, 'cause 'Little Artie' is like, cute, and 'Pixie Sprinkle' is like, _sparkly_!" The giddy male flipped his hair once more; "Ugh I'm so smart sometimes it's almost like, _omigaud Feliks_, why do you work at a bar? But, you know, you need to be like totally smart to work at a bar. I bet, like, dumb people can't do it."

Arthur was not sure how he felt towards being called "Little Artie the Pixie Sprinkle", but, seeing the animated expressions flicker across Feliks' face, suddenly found the entire situation hilarious.

Spluttering, he laughed.

The cross-dresser looked confused, but did not seem to mind, and joined in a moment after.

When the laughing spell subsided, Feliks leaned on the bar counter and asked, "So, Artie, what'd you wanna drink?"

Stomach churning a little at the thought of more alcohol, Arthur bit back a wince, "Just…water, please; I am in more of a mood for food."

"_As if_ I'm gonna give you _water_; that's like, ew to the max!" The effeminate blonde rolled his eyes; "Here's the menu." It was flopped down onto the countertop from seemingly out of nowhere. "I'll like…make you something _pretty_, how's that? Can't go wrong with the 'pretty'." With that, a tall, triangular glass was pulled out from under the counter. "I can _totally_ make, like, _anything_ and it'd be the most awesomest thing you have ever had, like, _ever_, but I'll just make you something simple on the house today, 'kay?"

Arthur, surprised by the enthusiastic friendliness, gave a smile of warm gratitude. "Thank you, Feliks; that'd be wonderful." He gave a contented sigh, and looked down at the menu.

Without much thought, he ordered the first thing he saw, which happened to be chicken wings and fries.

As the menu was taken away, the triangular glass on a thin stem Arthur previously saw Feliks take out from under the counter took its space.

It was a margarita, pink, rimmed with particles of salt, with a piece of lime on the edge of the glass.

"Nothing special, but simple and totally cute," Feliks gave him another wink; "You look like you could use something pink to cheer you up. Everyone could use more pink in their lives, you know." With a shrug, the bartender waved Arthur goodbye for a second to tend to more requests for drinks, hips swaying to the beat of the music playing in the diner.

Shaking his head slightly at how strange of a friend he just made, he took a sip of his margarita.

Feliks was right; it did cheer him up, and he could almost forget about having to perform the much too overly anticipated ritual in the near future.

Through all the music, talking, and general noise of the diner, Arthur did not hear the soft ring of his phone.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Alfred glared at the phone as if the fact that Arthur wasn't answering his calls was its fault. But the phone had no reaction to his glares, and, after a few seconds, he got tired of doing it and threw the electronic devise down onto his bed.

Scratch that; it wasn't really a bed, more of a comforter spread out on wooden floor.

Groaning, he plopped down out of habit, expecting feathery softness and a slight rebound of the mattress. He immediately regretted it as his head hit hard surface with a "bang".

No matter how thick or soft the comforter was, it was still placed on wood flooring.

"…OWWWW!" He cried out, clutching his head and making whiny noises, feeling downright miserable.

Not only did he majorly screwed up with Arthur on the plane before taking off to Japan, got a slap in the face because of that from Francis who was wearing leather gloves at the time, and had all of his calls rejected since he started calling Arthur to apologize for the past fifteen minutes, he now had a swelling bump on the back of his head.

Lazily reaching out to the pillow, he grabbed it and hugged it tight against his chest, pressing his face into its softness, and wished that it could yelp in surprise and protest in embarrassment like a certain British man would.

The pillow was soft, but also a little cold.

Arthur would be warm.

Alfred could've sworn he was going crazy with all these sappy emotions dampening his heroic side.

The door to his room slid open, but he remained still, sprawled out half on the floor and half on the comforter, choking a pillow to death if it were alive.

"…Alfred?"

Oh, so it was Matthew.

"Alfred, what's wrong, eh? I heard you yell." The door slid shut, and soft footsteps grew closer.

Alfred could vaguely see a pair of bare feet in slippers if he lifted his head a little and peered through the crevice between his arms and the pillow. They were currently standing close to where his legs were.

Matthew stood beside the unresponsive American, not knowing what to do. Taking one look at the discarded phone beside the figure that was lying down was enough to give the Canadian an idea of what the other blonde was doing.

Sighing a little, he sat down beside Alfred and patted his head.

"Have you been calling him?" He asked, tone soft and comforting. His fingers brushed through short strands of messy blond hair, and were suddenly met with a jolt and hiss of pain.

"…Alfred?"

"You rubbed my bump, Mattie." Alfred stuck his head out from nuzzling into the pillow, and gave him a pouty look.

"Bump?" Matthew blinked, "When did you get a bump on your head?"

"Just now…" The American buried his face against his pillow once more, "I hit my head on the floor."

"Oh…I'm sorry…" The strawberry blonde blinked.

"Nah, why are you apologizing? You should make the floor apologize…" It could've been a joke, but Alfred sounded too disheartened for trying to be humorous.

A comfortable silence settled between the two as the younger male continued to gently pat the prone figure on the head, carefully avoiding where he knew the bump was.

"…Mattie…" Alfred broke the silence, voice muffled, "Do you think…Do you think Arthur hates me for what I said?"

Matthew's patting halted. After a brief moment of thinking, it resumed.

"No, I think he's probably just hurt and angry. He's probably just mad at you; he's awfully stubborn, eh? He'd probably make you suffer in guilt for a few days before pretending that he'd just forgiven you, though he already did the day after or something." The Canadian laughed a little, thinking back to that one time when he was in early teens and had a huge fight with the British man over the phone, which resulted him calling his cousin at least a hundred times over the span of three days before his call was finally answered.

Alfred gave a loud, frustrated groan; "But I don't like suffering!" He whined, an arm reaching out and wrapping around Matthew's waist.

The Canadian jumped a little in surprise as the American self-invited himself onto his lap.

Adjusting the pillow so that he could hug it at the same time as lean against it, the taller blonde put his head down onto the younger male's thighs, snuggling close.

"…A-Alfred…?" Matthew was still a little surprised.

"…I'm sorry, Mattie; it's just that…you remind me of Arthur…a little bit…" Alfred's voice was a sad whisper; he sniffed, and hid his face; "I donno what the hell's wrong with me. It's only been…what, three days since I last saw him? …stupid time difference…" He grumbled.

"…There's nothing wrong with you." Was the whispered reply, though it sounded more pensive than a statement.

"It's just that…I donno _why_ he just ran away after I told him I love him…I just don't understand, that's all." The American's form stiffened a little, and Matthew wondered if he was biting back tears.

"…It's okay, Alfred; it'll get better, eh?" The Canadian cooed, patting the blonde head on his lap with feathery, gentle touches, a sad smile on his lips.

"It's not fair…" Alfred lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, voice sounding a little croaky, "…I'm supposed to be the hero and make everything better, but I can't even stop my own life from fucking up. And now I have a stupid bump on my head too…"

"Shhhh…" Matthew sighed softly, head tilting down, "We'll get Yao to take a look at it later, 'kay? It'll be better in the morning." And he didn't mean just the bump.

"…Yeah…" Alfred nodded.

"Thanks, Mattie." He added on after a brief while of silence.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Yao, settling down onto his comforter, speed dialed a number he'd wanted to call since getting off the flight arriving into Japan. Though it was an odd hour where he was, in Russia it was still yet midnight.

The first dialing tone hadn't even trailed off yet before the phone was picked up on the other end.

"YAOO~~!" Ivan's happy voice came through, and a bright smile bloomed on Yao's face.

"Hello, Ivan."

"Привет~~!" Yao could just imagine the tall man huddling around the phone with his trademark child-like, innocent grin of beaming happiness, and it made him laugh a little.

"How did you know it was me, aru?"

"I answered all of my calls with 'Yao', da~~ Because I knew Yao would call me!"

Yao wondered how many unsuspecting Russians called Ivan and got a "YAOO~~!" as a "hello".

"Yao is in Japan now, da? How is Japan?"

"Yes, aru, we have reached the Honda estates and moved into the side house. And Japan is great, aru! Kiku took us around Tokyo earlier during the daytime after we arrived."

"How is the mansion? Is it scary?"

"We haven't gotten a chance to look around; we are waiting for our equipments to arrive." Yao paused a little in thought; "I think they will arrive by tomorrow, early in the afternoon Tokyo time, and as soon as we have them we will start setting them up inside the mansion, and look around, aru."

"Ohhh~" Yao could practically see Ivan blinking his large, round eyes.

"How are _you_, aru? How is your sister?"

_"_Yekaterina and I are getting better now. We found a nice apartment, da! We can see a garden from our balcony, and there are small sunflowers in flower pots! I visit them a lot and became friends with the flower lady. She let me pat the sunflowers! I can't see the sunflowers from our balcony though, because the sunflowers have to be inside because it is cold in Russia, da~? The flower lady gives me cookies for Yekaterina and I, too. She is an old lady, and her family can't visit her often because they live far away, so Yekaterina and I visit her on Sundays when both of us don't have work."

The Russian then proceeded to chatter on in details about the sunflowers, cookies, and true Russian vodka. Yao listened intently, laughing and giving small remarks here and there.

It didn't matter that they stayed on the phone talking about nothing of importance for a long time; it didn't matter that it was the darkest hour of the night in Japan and all was asleep.

What mattered was that Ivan sounded a lot better in spirits and was back to his old self.

What was important was that he and what was left of his family were healing.

"How is work going, aru?" Yao remembered Ivan telling him the day before the team left New York for Japan about getting a job at a candy store.

"Work is great! I make cotton candy everyday! I am getting good at making cotton candy now, so if Yao comes to visit, I will make Yao very good cotton candy! Da~!"

Yao was sure if Ivan weren't holding the phone, he would've clapped.

The Chinese man smiled; "Definitely, aru!" He spoke with certainty.

Yes, he will definitely visit Ivan.

There was a slight pause on the other side.

"…Da!" There was warmth and hope in the Russian's voice; it made Yao's heart blossom in happiness. "I will be waiting for Yao with cotton candy!"

Yao's eyes sparkled in the dark of his room; "It is a promise then, aru!"

There was a brief moment of silence while both men sat with their phones, feeling strangely flushed but with bright smiles on their faces.

"Oh, I almost forgot to say, aru," Yao broke the silence as a thought came into his head, "Matthew called his employers at the café to tell them he got to Japan safely. They said the fish are doing great, aru, and the customers love them as well because they are very friendly. Matthew said to tell you not to worry; Roderich and Elizabeta are taking care of the fish very carefully, aru."

Yao remembered that, when he went with Matthew to drop the fish off at the café, Roderich had a notepad ready and everything, scribbling down in neat italic writing of every little detail regarding how to care for the fish, so it was clear that they were in good hands.

"Are they going to give the fish lots of love?" Ivan asked.

Yao frowned a little. In truth, the Austrian looked a little apprehensive of the fish. However, his wife, Elizabeta, seemed enamoured by them.

"I think they will, aru."

"That's great!"

The two continued to talk about interesting things that happened, with Yao purposely choosing not to tell Ivan of the conflict on the plane before it took of, not wanting to worry the Russian.

At one point during their conversation, Yao thought he heard a loud exclaim of pain from down the hall. It sounded like Alfred, and he briefly wondered what the American had done this time.

_Probably something stupid, aru…_

It appeared that he was not the only one having troubles sleeping, jet-lagged and all.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Ending Notes: **TOKYO YEEEEUUUHH—! I've never been to Tokyo, so all descriptions were based on pictures I found on google. –thumbs up–

Cottborough does not exist (at least I don't think so); it is a city/town I made up. I'd want to live there though, if Feliks were there. :D

Andreas Thorne is an OC made up completely for the purpose of the plot; I see him as some kind of a catalyst or something to kinda…nudge things along? …Nah…Well…You'll know what I mean once we get there.

How many wished the same thing that Arthur was wishing for with the whole Alfred in spandex hero outfit thing? –raises hand– And how many wants to see Arthur's reaction if Alfred were to call him "Little Artie the Pixie Sprinkle" while wearing the said spandex hero outfit? –raises hand higher–

I have too much fun with these people…AHAHAHA ;p

I enjoyed writing the little moment between Alfred and Matthew; everyone could use more sweet moments, eh? I have no idea why Ivan's making cotton candy in Russia, but…uhhh…I like cotton candy…? XD

Hey, by the way, just wondering…Roderich doesn't like marine animals much or something right? Like starfish and stuff like that? I have a friend who's actually really afraid of fish; it's funny to drag him into pet shops to look at AALLL the pretty fish there. 8D Anywaaaays, please lemme know! Thanks! –many hearts–

Oh yeah, btw…

…

There's no surprise…

…

…

–dodges tomatoes–

JUST KIDDING! JUST KIDDING! WAAAHH! D:

I-I promise I'll make it up to you!

By presenting you…AN OMAKE—! 8DDDDDDDDD

YAAAAAAYY—!

…C'mon cheer with me.

YAAAAAAAAAAAYY—!

SO! I imagine the following segment to take place some time not long after the founding of Alfred's agency, before Yao even joined, soooo this is just a nice, friendly thing I guess.

Please enjoy, darlings! :D

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Horror Movies and the JPIA**

Alfred, Francis, and Ivan sat on the sofa, huddled together.

Scratch that, Francis and Ivan sat on the sofa with Alfred cowering between them, insistently grabbing onto their arms and tugging them so close to himself until they were all pretty much squished together on the otherwise spacious couch.

Not only did the shivering, terrified blonde had their arms in vice-grips, he also had a thick comforter wrapped around his curled up form, as well as a pillow that he placed between his tucked-up legs and his torso.

Long story short, the three were watching a horror movie, an apparently extremely scary one.

The movie hadn't even fully begun yet before Alfred already started getting jumpy, and it wasn't long before he started to outright let out shrieks and hide his face whenever the supposedly scary parts came on.

"For the leader of a paranormal investigation agency, you have a strangely low tolerance of these horrible movies, _mon ami_," Francis spoke in a slightly drawling tone, looking rather bored as he somehow still managed to appear fabulous despite of his awkward position being tugged by the American.

"How can you say that man?" Alfred cried out, voice high-pitched and wavering, eyes never leaving the screen. His arms tightened around the ones he was holding as the protagonists entered the haunted science lab and began snooping around. "This is one of the most scariest shit I've ever seen! You don't encounter these things in real life you know!"

"…Uhhhm…" The Frenchman blinked, and opened his mouth to reply. But in the end, he merely sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose; he knew better than to argue with his currently terrified friend. The American was right to some extent; they _wouldn't_ encounter these situations in real life, not because they weren't possible, but simply because, as professionals dealing with the supernatural, they would _never_ do something as stupid as most of what he'd seen the protagonists do in the movie.

The three of them were supposed to be having a nice, relaxing dinner at Francis' new place, and then perhaps head out to the theater for a nice, relaxing show, but _nooooo_…Instead of a nice, relaxing evening of elegance and general enjoyment of life, Alfred, out of nowhere, decided to bring over a newly released DVD with sparkling eyes and enough giddiness that could rival a hyperactive puppy, and pretty much demanded that they all watched it together.

So here they were, imprisoned by Alfred's arms, sitting on Francis' new, expensive, fashionable sofa, trying and failing (except perhaps the supposed leader of their agency) to enjoy crappy entertainment with good visual effects, which were perhaps the only things worth seeing.

And of course it was a remake of an Asian film that was rumoured to have scared millions shitless and a few dead, but Francis assumed that, as with all remakes, it hardly lived up to its original's name.

But that didn't stop a certain "heroic" blonde from getting freaked out from head to toe.

The protagonists were romancing…_romancing_! In the middle of a dark, dirty, completely rundown science lab with gross body parts floating around in glass jars while a ghost was on the loose after their lives! What was everyone involved in this production_ thinking_?

The Frenchman rolled his eyes; _this_ gives _l'amour_ a bad name.

However, as he thought more of it, absentmindedly brushing a silk-gloved hand through silky smooth hair, if it here _him_, he could be anywhere and make spectacular romance happen.

A small whimper caught his attention, and he turned in surprise that it had actually come from the tall man sitting on the other side of the American.

Ivan, the man who could trot through a notoriously haunted 19th century prison with skipping steps and beat the crap out of all the ghosts of dangerous convicts with a shiny water-pipe all the while swinging a bottle of vodka and happily singing a Russian folksong (that he probably made up on the spot) about sunflowers, was whimpering softly and pitifully, curling into himself and shoulders bunching up. The lower half of his face was hidden behind the folds of a long scarf he wore everywhere with him as he snuggled against it, pale eyebrows furrowed deeply together and large, violet eyes bright and teary.

Francis was flabbergasted.

_Ivan_ couldn't possibly be scared, could he?

His confusion and shock quickly dissipated as the Russian suddenly turned towards Alfred, cheeks flushed and lips quivering, and spoke in a hysterical whine:

"Al-Alfred! I-I can't hold it anymore, da—!"

"You promised you'd stay till the scary part's over!" Alfred whined back, arms tightening even more around the ones he was clutching, eyes never leaving the screen.

"But-But it's been fifteen minutes since the scary part started!" Ivan began to fidget and shuffle, squeezing his legs together; "I-I can't hold it anymore! I-I have to-I have to—_I have to pee—!_" He let out a miserable cry, and started trying to yank his arm out of Alfred's clutch.

"Just a bit longer, man! The scariest part's comin' up! You can't just leave me!" The American was persistent and did not give in.

"You said the same thing fifteen minutes ago!"

"Yeah but the ghost's gonna appear any second now!"

"I don't care! Let go!" The Russian, struggling in earnest by then, looked like he was on the brink of breaking into violent, angry sobs, his free hand trying to push Alfred off from his arm. Large droplets of tears were balancing delicately on his long, pale eyelashes, and it was then Francis realized that Ivan really, REALLY had to go.

"Just five more minutes!" The intently watching blonde was not willing to relent.

"I—I can't hold it in for _any_ minutes!" Shaking his head side to side forcefully and short strands of hair flapping around his face, the tall man started to smack the arm holding him prisoner to the couch.

"Half a minute then!" The American only looked somewhat annoyed by the smacks, eyes still glued to the screen.

"Нет! Нет—!" Distress clear on every part of his face, the Russian cried out, cheeks reddening even further as he started to flop about on the sofa with the little room he could move in. "**НЕТ—!**"

"Oh for the love of God…" Francis rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath before cutting in:

"_Arrêtez! Vous deux!_" Turning to Alfred, he spoke in a berating and slightly threatening tone; "Now, Alfred, if you don't let Ivan go this instance and he has an accident, you will have to buy me a new couch, and with your current financial situation, I am quite certain that you will not be able to eat burgers for weeks in order to pay for something as fine as this work of art that is my furniture."

Alfred instantly let go of Ivan, and the tall man immediately shot up from his seat and ran to the bathroom.

Sighing in relief that his precious sofa narrowly escaped the fate of getting strange stains, Francis brushed through his hair with his available hand once more, and was just going to turn back to the movie when a small tug on his imprisoned arm roused his attention.

Turning to the side, he was momentarily surprised to find pleading, vibrant blue eyes.

"…You wouldn't leave me to watch alone, would you…?" Alfred looked like a kicked puppy over Ivan's absence, scooting even closer to who was now his only companion, at least until Ivan comes back.

"…_Non; non…Bien sûr que non_," The Frenchman could only shake his head – long, waved hair shimmering under the little light in the large living room – and give a few huffed chuckles of exasperation and mild amusement.

"Good," The younger man nodded quickly, and turned his eyes back to the screen, "'Cause the scariest part's comin' up…"

It turned out that the entire movie was made up of "scariest part"s, and, after the whole thing was over, Francis was left wondering just how many interesting and fulfilling things he could've done in those two hours that he spent watching the silly movie.

Ivan was just glad he was allowed to go to the bathroom before he embarrassed himself.

As the ending credits scrolled along, Alfred gave a deep, relieved sigh, and finally relaxed into a normal lounging position.

"Man…Was that intense or what?" He exclaimed loudly, throwing his arms up and freeing the ones he'd clenched around.

Rubbing his arm, Francis winced; it had gone numb since the last quarter of the movie.

"…Da…" Ivan nodded and agreed in a low murmur, though the Frenchman had suspicions that he wasn't referring to the same thing as Alfred was, and that the thing he _was_ referring to probably had something to do with his bladder.

"Great! Now that _that_'s over and done with…Can someone turn on the light?" The American tried to brush it off as a casual request with a laugh, but it came out shaky and only emphasized how jumpy he still was.

Francis got up from the couch with an amused smile, and flicked on the lights in the room.

Immediately, all dark shadows disappeared.

"Phew!" Alfred gave a sloppy wipe of imaginary sweat on his forehead, and reached for the remote; "Y'all don't mind if I turn this off, do ya? This music is creeping me out a bit." Without waiting for a response (not that anyone _would_ protest against it), he turned off the DVD player. "I wonder what's on TV…" He changed the setting to TV mode, and, right away, bright colours burst forth on the screen.

Ivan took one glance at the television, and instantly let out a sharp holler of fear, large hands shooting up to cover over his eyes.

It was Teletubbies.

"Нет! Нет! Выключите это! _Выключите это!_" The Russian cried out, curling up into a ball, face hiding behind his knees as the large hands previously placed over eyes went to his ears instead.

Needless to say, the other two in the room merely stared unblinkingly, quite stunned.

"Нет! Это является злым и страшным! НЕТ—!" More cries followed, and, to the greater shock of Alfred and Francis, the tall man was actually genuinely overwhelmed by terror, shaking and making small, frightened noises.

The other two blinked, and, as Francis slowly lifted an eyebrow with an expression of incredulousness, a mischievous grin leered across Alfred's face.

The American muted the TV, and gave the shivering ball that was his tall friend a nudge.

"Hey! Ivan! I got rid of it for you."

"…R-Really…?" A small voice asked, coming out muffled.

"Yeah, 'course!" Alfred bit back a snicker, and watched the frightened man carefully.

Slowly, Ivan began to unravel himself, hands uncovering his ears and head rising up little by little from its tucked down position.

His chin gave a little tilt, and violet eyes gave a tiny peek at the TV.

The sound was immediately un-muted and came blaring back up.

"**НЕЕЕЕТ—!**" A shriek cut through the sugar-coated music, and the Russian went back into a quivering ball.

Alfred burst out into laughter, slapping his thigh and clenching his stomach before falling over onto the couch. Francis rolled his eyes, but couldn't help letting out several laughs of his own.

"Я ненавижу Вас, Альфред!" Shouting out and trying to glare (which was hard looking as un-menacing as a man could look), Ivan pursed his lips together.

The American continued to laugh, rubbing his stomach in circles to alleviate some of the pinching soreness he felt there.

"Alfred! You're the worst, da—!" Switching to English, the tall blonde shouted out angrily, and, with a few teary sniffles, curled even further into himself.

"Hey, I'm just playing with you, man; don't hafta get mad at me," Alfred gave a few more chortles, and nudged the other man on the couch with a foot.

The curled up ball swayed, but remained unmoving.

"Awwww, c'mon Ivan!" Pushing himself up into a proper sitting position, the American scooted closer to his taller friend and clapped him on the back. "Don't be like that!"

There was no response.

"Look, how about I make it up to you by turning it off for real this time?" He tried again, and flashed an award-winning grin though the other couldn't see it.

"…You promise…?" Ivan moved a little, giving him a fleeting, hopeful glance.

"Yeah, you can count on me!" The award-winning grin widened even further; "'Cause I'm the hero!"

As promised, Alfred turned over, grabbed the remote, and turned the television off.

"See?" Cheekily leaning closer to the Russian, he wrapped an arm around the shoulders of the taller form, and gave a pleased sigh; "Aren't I the best~~?" His vibrant, blue eyes beamed.

A strange answer was his reply.

"…_Kol kol kol kol kol kol—_"

The shoulders the American wrapped an arm around began to shake along the chant-like, dark chuckles, and a menacing aura suddenly stirred up in the air as the temperature almost seemed to drop around the still curled up figure.

Francis' eyes widened, and Alfred froze on the spot, looking aghast.

"-Oh shi—" The swearword had not even left the messy-haired blonde's mouth before large hands suddenly shot out and grabbed onto his shoulders, pushing forward with brute strength. Hollering in shock and fright, Alfred didn't even have time to wince as he was slammed down onto his back on the couch before his breath hitched in his throat.

The Russian's tall form loomed over him.

Ivan's face wore a childlike, innocent grin, but his eyes shined too brightly in the shadow for it to be a genuine expression.

"…Uhhh-Uhhhmm…I-Ivan…?" The American couldn't move, staring with saucer eyes and stiff as a board.

"…_You lied to me Alfred…Naughty children must be punished, da~~?_" Ivan's honey-dipped voice spoke softly as his grin and eyes widened a little.

"…-GAAAAAHHHH—! FRANCIS! FRANCIS—! H-HELP! HELP ME DAMNIT! AAAHHHH—!" Broke the quietness of the room, and Francis sighed, face-palming.

The two were wrestling on his expensive couch with the Russian winning as he pinned down the American and tickled his sides mercilessly.

The Frenchman, shaking his head and walking over before they somehow damaged his prized sofa, wondered if he perhaps should get new friends.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translation:**

_Arrêtez! Vous deux!_ – Stop! You two! (Is this how you say "both of you" too? Well, it's supposed to say "both of you"…Help…? ;_; )

Нет! Нет! Выключите это! _Выключите это!_ – No! No! Turn it off! _Turn it off!_

Нет! Это является злым и страшным! НЕТ—! – No! It's evil and terrible! NO—!

Я ненавижу Вас, Альфред! – I hate you, Alfred!

**Actual Ending Notes:** So ya…Alfred's scared of horror movies; Ivan's scared of Teletubbies. And Francis is as fabulous as ever.

I swear man…those Teletubbies are EVIL! D:

I have teletubby-phobia.

The end.

Ps: I love you (HAHAHAHA yeah I stole this from that movie whachu gon' do 'bout it? ;p)

But yeah, seriously, I love you guys! I know I said this like a million times already before but I just want to make sure y'all know! Aaaaand, I hope you liked the Omake, and that it lifted the mood a little.

Thanks so much once more! And MUAHS—!

Reviews make me sprout rainbows! –hearts–

(Imaginary rainbows)

Oh, btw, I need help!

For some reasons, every time I upload a new chapter, the entire thing become Italic-ized! :( I have to un-Italic-ize the whole thing and redo all the Italics and it's so friggin' ANNOYING!

Can someone tell me what the problem might be please? ;_;


	22. CASE3: Honda Estates, Intro Part 3

**Author's Notes: **The rating is officially now "Mature". ;)

Enjoy, darlings~~ 8D

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

"…Elizabeta…_why did you buy this hideous—…__**thing**_?" Roderich's rather hysterical voice was higher in pitch than his usual soft timber. It roused many patrons' attention from around the café.

"I thought the fish could use some change of scenery, you know," Elizabeta gave a small shrug.

"What if—What if it _eats_ the fish? How are we going to make it up to Matthew and his friends?" The Austrian pointed a shaky, suspicious finger at the star fish at the bottom of the fish tank, looking a little blue in the face.

"Don't be ridiculous, Roderich; it's not real. Besides, the person at the pet shop said these are very popular."

"…But-But—_It looks real_!"

"That's the point," The Hungarian woman frowned a little; "The only reason I didn't get one that's actually alive is because you're afraid of them."

Roderich, still pointing at the star fish, could only make incoherent, choked back sounds as all the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"…It-It looks alive to me!" As much as it frightened him to look at the harmless thing, he couldn't tear his eyes away.

He felt goosebumps all over his body.

"Oh stop it!" Elizabeta laughed and patted him on the back; "You're making too much of a big deal out of this. You won't have to see it once Matthew comes back from Japan and takes it back to his friend's place, you know."

Roderich had such a troubled and fear-filled grimace on his face his wife almost regretted buying the starfish.

The Austrian gave a violent shudder.

How was he supposed to work with such a bright and grossly out-of-place _thing_ in the tank _staring_ at him with _invisible eyes_?

"…I—I'm calling Matthew!"

Elizabeta sighed, shaking her head but giving a breathy laugh at her husband's antics.

Really, that Roderich can be quite fussy at times. Shrugging, the Hungarian woman went about her way to water the potted plants that came with the fish tank.

~o0o0o0o0o~

There was a horribly loud ring cutting through complete silence, and Matthew visibly jumped from his comforter, yelping in fright.

Groaning when he found it was his phone, he wondered who'd call him before the sun had even fully risen.

He finally managed to fall asleep and _this_ happens…

Grumbling to himself that he should stop forgetting to turn it off before going to sleep at night, he flipped open the still obnoxiously ringing device, and answered with a groggy: "…Hello…?"

"Hello, Matthew. I hope you are doing well today?"

Matthew frowned.

"…Roderich?"

"Yes, it is me."

Matthew gave another groan; "_Roderiich!_ Do you know what time it is here in Japan?"

When silence answered him, the Canadian gave a frustrated sigh.

Of all the people he expected to call him without regard of time zones, Roderich had been one of the least expected.

"Well, let's just say the sun isn't even up yet, eh!" Pouting to no one in particular, it still had not registered to his sleepy mind that it was probably not wise for him to yell at his boss.

However, when Roderich spoke, he sounded quite embarrassed and extremely apologetic.

"I'm…I'm very sorry, Matthew. I shouldn't have jumped to such a decision of calling you without much thinking; it is—it is unlike me…" The Canadian was unused to how hesitant and flustered the Austrian sounded, so he naturally assumed something big must've happened.

"Did something happen?" He asked, waking up a little more.

"…W-Well…" Matthew didn't think it was possible for Roderich to actually stutter in embarrassment.

"Yeah?"

"It's…It's—" There was a mumble Matthew couldn't make out from the other end.

"…What?"

"It's Elizabeta…She…bought a star fish for the fish tank, and I—I was worried it would bother you…"

If Matthew weren't the polite young man that he was, he would've thrown the phone against the wall with a "_you called me all the way from New York and interrupted my sleep just to tell me __**that**__?_".

Harshly swallowing down bubbling annoyance, he made sure he sounded at least cordial: "It's fine with me to have a star fish in the fish tank, Roderich."

"Oh……" Roderich gave one of his awkward, dry coughs, "Good. I just…had to make sure it was alright with you…"

"…Ok…"

There was a pause.

"…You are not bothered by it at all? I-I must admit it clashes horribly with the entirety of the fish tank and unbalances the colour tones quite awfully, not to mention its strange disposition leaves an undesirable taste should one look at it for too long."

All the words, to Matthew's dizzy and half-unconscious mind, slurred together.

"…No, I'm not really bothered, eh…"

"Are you certain? It looks very angry and ominous." Roderich sounded strangely heated about the subject.

"Why? Is it going to harm the fish?" Matthew frowned, a little worried.

"…Well…No it—it isn't actually alive…"

The Canadian blinked, and had to bite on his lips to stop an angry tirade from blurting out of his mouth.

In the end, he took a deep breath, and replied: "It is perfectly fine with me that Elizabeta bought a starfish for the tank. Please thank her for me for her thoughtfulness."

"Oh…" The Austrian said, "…Of—Of course…"

A long moment of silence droned on between the two.

"……Are you _absolutely certain_ that—"

"-YES! I am absolutely, completely certain, eh!"

"-I-I'm sorry! I'm very sorry, Matthew! How-How imprudent of me—I will leave you to rest. I give you my sincerest apologies once again. Please, I beg of your pardon!" Roderich actually sounded a little scared, and Matthew wondered maybe he shouldn't have yelled.

_Shouldn't-have-yelled be damned_; he was sleep-deprived and irritated.

"Good night, Roderich, and please call me at a more reasonable hour next time, eh!" Without waiting for a reply, the Canadian snapped the phone closed and threw it to the side with a "Humph!".

What he didn't expect was a reply:

"—_Oooh_!"

Blinking in confusion, he frowned and turned.

And saw Francis, who, rubbing his head where the phone had hit him, groaned and opened his eyes.

Matthew immediately gasped and jolted awake.

"Francis! Are you alright? Oh—I-I'm so sorry!" He scooted closer to the Frenchman, who still looked a little bleary-eyed and confused. "But I'm surprised you didn't wake up when it rang."

"_Non…j'ai entendu la sonnerie du téléphone—Oh, pardonnes-moi, Matthieu_," Giving his head a few more rubs, Francis yawned, making sure to cover his mouth as he did, and turned towards Matthew. He gave the concerned Canadian a lazy, sleepy smile; "I heard the phone ring, but I fell back to sleep."

"Sorry I woke you again…" Matthew looked down, feeling bad.

"It's alright, _mon amour_." Francis smiled, and reached out a hand, tugging the other man closer; "Give me a kiss and I will forgive you."

Matthew blushed; he suddenly realized that he was no longer sleepy.

Francis' hand was warm underneath his sleeping gloves; the fabrics were thin, and the Canadian could almost pretend they were bare.

He scooted closer to the form still lying down, and leaned forward, eyes fluttering close.

His face felt hot; his ears felt warm. His entire body tingled with breathless anticipation.

He leaned down, and gasped shakily as his lips touched the Frenchman's.

He could feel Francis' lips smiling against his before he was tugged closer by strong arms.

Francis pulled his little Matthieu over to lie on top of him, chuckling at the small, surprised squeak from the Canadian as he somewhat fell and flopped down.

"S-Sorry—" The strawberry blonde was immediately flustered, worried that he'd hurt the one under him, but he was quickly silenced as he was guided down for another kiss.

The kiss was tender, hot, and loving.

They were in no hurry; lips dancing in a slow rhythm, tongues fleeting out for teasing licks.

Matthew gave a small moan, and parted his legs so that he somewhat straddled the Frenchman, pressing his body closer. He tried to find a good place to settle himself, and accidentally rubbed Francis where he was most sensitive.

Francis gasped, surprised, and moaned; Matthew blushed, and experimentally did the same gesture again.

"…Matthieu…" Strong arms wrapped tighter around his body, and large hands lazily roamed across his back, resting on his buttocks and squeezing gently.

He whimpered as the action caused his crotch to rub against the older male's, sending a spark of pleasure up his spine.

He was not the only who felt it, as Francis gave another throaty moan, and shifted his hips.

They only broke the kiss to gasp; Matthew quickly learned, and began to match the Frenchman's movements with his own.

".._Ohhhh…"_ The Canadian's lips were parted, pink and thoroughly kissed. His watery, blue eyes were half-lidded, pale eyelashes framing the shimmering pools fluttering. His cheeks had a healthy flush, contrasting with his creamy, pale complexion.

Francis was entranced, and wished his little Matthieu wore less when going to bed.

What he did not know was that his little Matthieu wished the same thing towards him.

As soon as Francis learnt a way to control and limit his abilities to only his hands with little close to no efforts, he usually slept nude (except for gloves, which can look a little odd), but since this was the first night he spent with the Canadian on the same bed (all thanks to Arthur), he did not want to frighten the younger blonde by moving too fast. However, that thought was quickly pushed aside as, just about the instance they bid the rest of their team mates good night and lied down next to each other, Matthew, face almost glowing red in the dark, had started to scoot closer, trying to be discreet but failing miserably. Amused, he actually pretended to not notice the small movements and played oblivious, much to the frustration of the younger male. But when Matthew gave him a hurt look and looked like he was about to cry, Francis realized that his little tease must've been interpreted completely differently than what he had intended.

So, of course, he quickly fixed that by giving the Canadian a bruising, passionate kiss and climbed on top.

His _petit chaton_ had mewled so beautifully and eagerly into the kiss he couldn't help but let a predatory smirk tug at his lips.

Hands slipping under the smaller blonde's shirt and caressing bare, heated skin, he was leaving nibbled kisses on Matthew's pale, long neck when a sudden, loud thud accompanied by an "OWWW!" made the both of them jump.

They had stared at each other, taking deep breaths, both flushed, hot and bothered, but wondering what that shout had been about.

Being the cute, little worry-wart that he was, Matthieu insisted to check what was going on, and gave him an apologetic smile before leaving to find the source of the holler of pain.

It turned out to be Alfred doing something stupid, as usual, and, when the Canadian returned, they both decided it was probably wiser to get some sleep, as difficult as it was because of the jet lag.

No Alfred was going to interrupt this time, since they were both sure the American was still fast asleep.

Hips moving in slow motions in unison, they looked at each other, breathless, with affectionate gazes. Hands shifting reluctantly from their places on Matthew's cute, perky butt, Francis slid them under the cotton sleeping shirt, leaving butterfly touches across bare skin.

The Canadian took in a hitched breath, a little ticklish, and squirmed, pouting and whining.

"S-Stop teasing meeee!" He puckered his lips down at the Frenchman, who laughed in amusement.

Sticking out his tongue, he grounded his hips down as pay back, and watched with pleased satisfaction as the older male let out a surprised moan, eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment, lips apart.

"_Chaton vilain_…" Francis gave a small, playful smack to Matthew's buttocks, eyes sparkling in interest when the strawberry blonde gasped, and arched his back with a bit-back whimper.

"Ahhhh…_Chaton vilain_ likes to be punished, _hmmmm_?" He made sure to speak in English so that his little Matthieu could understand. When the Canadian flushed bright red, nibbling on his lips and trying to not look too hopeful, he chuckled, and tugged on the cotton shirt.

Matthew instantly caught onto his intentions, and, leaning back, pulled the shirt over his head and threw it to the side, softly waved hair getting adorably messed in the process.

The wayward, looped curl bounced, and Francis briefly wondered why it was the way it was.

But the thought was short-lived as he took in the sight of Matthew's naked chest.

Smooth, unblemished expanses of creamy, soft skin met his eyes; pink little nipples stood to attention from the slightly cool air.

He reached his hands towards them, and gave them a small tweak.

Matthew squeaked, and shivered. Continuing the sway and rubbing motion of his hips, he leaned into the touch, feeling his body temperature rise as, suddenly, everywhere was hot.

Pulling the Canadian down with one hand for another kiss, deeper and more desperate this time, Francis tugged gently and played with the small nubs with the other, relishing in the slightly harsh yanks on his pajamas top as the younger man got impatient with the buttons.

So there was a little fighter under the gentle sweetness.

Both hands touching and groping, the Frenchman quickly reached the elastic of Matthew's boxer shorts, and, lips parting into a wicked smile yet never breaking the kiss, he slipped one of his hands in.

"-_Ahhh—!_" Matthew cried out as fingers touched him intimately, a tremble shaking through his body. White flashes of pleasure shot up his spine.

He whined, whimpered, and moaned incoherent words, but none of those things seemed adequate enough to express the intense feelings he got from Francis' administrations.

"—Francis-Francis—_Oooooh~~_" Eyes squeezed shut, he panted, completely aware of the sinfully glittering eyes greedily taking in his expressions from below and, as embarrassed as he was, secretly loved the way his lover shamelessly looked over his form.

With shaky fingers, he went back to undoing the buttons of Francis' shirt. The silk was slippery under his hands, and the buttons were too many for the occasion.

"-S-Stupid buttons—!" He said through huffed breaths and moans.

Quite harshly jerking open a few, he was at the last couple of buttons when the pleasure began to mount all of a sudden.

His movements started to become desperate.

"O-Oh no! F-Francis I—I'm going to—" As much as he tried, he couldn't stop rubbing his crotch into the hand that was doing such wondrous things.

"Do it, Matthieu…_mon amour…mon ange_…" Francis' low, smooth, encouraging voice reached his ears in an alluring tone, and he felt almost unbearable heat overcome his body.

He was almost there; almost there…

Almost—

"MATTIE! I CAN'T REACH ARTHUR—" The door was suddenly flung open with a loud bang, and Alfred, only in his underwear, was in the middle of a panicked shout when he abruptly stopped in his steps, mouth wide open and eyes as if saucers, finally noticing what was going on inside the room he just barged into.

Silence stretched over the air between them.

Yao, sleeping peacefully in the middle of an extremely pleasant dream involving a certain Russian and sunflower fields, jumped out of his bed high in the air and cried out in fright when a sudden explosion of hysterical voices screaming at each other filled the hallway and the rest of the house.

~o0o0o0o0o~

It wasn't often Francis is in a foul mood. However, on this particular day, he felt enough displeasure to actually wear no smile.

Walking beside a nervous American giving him fleeting glances of slight fear, he pushed back the urge to start berating the younger male in an anger voice just to make him suffer the silent treatment a bit longer.

After Alfred barged into their room without any warning at all, the three stared at each other for the longest silent moment possible with equal amount of shock before Matthew let out a scream and hurled the closest pillow he could reach at the intruder.

Luckily they still had most of their clothes on, and, in their positions the way they were, Alfred did not see anything not meant for him to see. But still, it took a whole fifteen minutes of yelling, scrambling, shouting explanations which were ignored, and a pissed off Chinese man with Kungfu background to stop the fight from getting out of hand.

Matthew, as soon as Yao pushed a genuinely flustered and apologetic American ("Oh my God Mattie I'm so sorry! I swear to God I didn't see anything—") out of the door and slammed it close, burst into tears and curled up on top of the comforter.

Francis immediately rushed to his side, and gathered the trembling man into his arms, whispering comforting words and cooing softly.

"_Shhhh…mon chéri, mon coeur_…It's alright…It's alright…"

"—I hate him! _I hate him!_" The Canadian, voice slightly muffled as he snuggled close against the Frenchman's chest, cried out, hiccupping and sniffling. "It was—It was our first time together and he—and he just—_he just barged in!_" Angry sobs abruptly ended his words.

"I agree; it was extremely rude of him, and almost unforgivable," Francis was angry too, but knew that would not comfort his distraught little blonde; "But he did not know—"

"-I was moaning like a cat in heat! How can he not hear that, eh?"

His little Matthieu must've been extremely upset to say something like that…

Patting the Canadian gently on the head and rubbing his back soothingly, Francis swallowed down a sigh; "I understand, Matthieu…I understand." Leaning back a little, he tilted his head and kissed away droplets of tears on the still sniffling strawberry blonde's cheeks.

Matthew gave a sad whimper, and nuzzled closer.

"…It's not fair!" He said, pursing his lips together and blinking his glassy eyes, a few more tears falling in the process.

"No…No, it isn't," The Frenchman replied, slowly rocking the man he held tightly in his arms back and forth. In a soft, calming tone, he continued, voice in a soothing timber, "But Matthieu…you have to understand his situation, _non?_ There must be reasons for his actions."

"I don't care what his reasons are!" The Canadian's voice was irate and bitter.

"Non…You do not mean that, _mon chouchou_," Francis gave a small kiss to his pouting lips.

After a while of silence, Matthew sighed; "…No…I don't…" He raised a hand, and messily wiped at his wet cheeks.

Francis smiled, and wrapped his arms tighter around his little _chaton_.

"_Matthieu…mon cher Matthieu…mon ange en sucre…Je t'aime…Je t'aime…"_

Matthew gave a small sniff, and scooted closer, closing his eyes and giving a soft sigh, feeling significantly calmer.

_"…Je t'aime à la folie…_" Francis' soft voice was hushed, sensual, and enthralling; "_...J'ai besoin de toi…_" He gave a kiss on top of soft blond hair, taking in a deep breath.

"…_J'ai besoin de tes baisers…_" His eyes fell close, words in a low, husky rumble.

"…_Matthieu…_" His arms tightened a little in a gentle squeeze around the smaller form he held; "_…Comment t'exprimer tout ce que je ressens ?_"

The Canadian didn't understand most of what was being said, but from the tone of Francis' voice, their general meaning was quite clear.

Suddenly feeling tired, Matthew tried to fight his droopy eyes as he wanted to remain in the moment longer, but, after a few tries, he found it impossible, and quickly slipped into a deep sleep.

Francis, noticing the smaller man's breathing evening out into a steady rhythm, smiled a little, and carefully tucked the slumbering blonde into the bedcovers.

Kiku arrived a while later, at a reasonable time, and found the team sans Matthew in the dining room, finishing up their breakfast the household staff prepared for them with an awkward silence hanging over their heads. But never a nosy one, the Japanese man greeted them and started a small, light conversation. Surprisingly Alfred had kept quiet, only making comments when talking about their shipped equipments and when they were going to arrive.

The rest of the morning was spent exploring the estates, though, in truth, it was more like sightseeing.

They were looking to see if there were any suspicious artifacts that could be related to the case around the area, but did not find anything of interest except an old shrine that looked like it had been abandoned for hundreds of years. It was hard to tell it was a shrine at all if it weren't for Kiku pointing out various structures and identifying them as various parts of buildings and whatnot.

This was what Francis was currently doing, walking around the area and trying to see, through the ruins, if there was anything that could help them identify what was causing the paranormal phenomenon at the mansion. In all honesty, he had no idea what he was looking for; he'd just been told by Yao that anything looking out of the ordinary should be reported. However, unbeknownst to the Chinese man, everything looked a little "out of the ordinary" for Francis, since he was not very familiar with Asian shrines, and what was supposed to be there and what wasn't.

Having an American lingering around him as if wanting to speak but afraid to do so was not helping his irritated mood either.

His little Matthieu felt better, yes, but that didn't mean _he_ felt any better about being interrupted _twice_ while trying to share _l'amour_ with his lover by the same man.

As soon as Arthur wasn't around breathing down his neck all the while threatening to turn his hair green if he gets too intimate with his little cousin, and Matthew had started to feel better about the whole drama/situation with the Brit, _Alfred_ of all people seemed to have taken the initiative to put a stop to their nightly activities, intentionally or not.

When the said American's fleeting glances became really annoying, Francis curtly turned directly to face the other blonde, hands on his lips, lifted an eyebrow and spoke out in a crisp tone: "If you have something to say, Alfred, you should say it."

Alfred winced at the slightly cutting tone, but knew he totally deserved it. Rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, he mumbled, "…I'm—I'm _really_ sorry, alright…I swear to God I didn't know…Now that I think about it I have no idea how I could've not known but—" He sighed, looking down at his shoes and ashamed of himself; "…I was just…My head was just filled with thoughts of Arthur and I—I didn't notice anything else I guess…"

Looking at how sorry and uncharacteristically fidgety the bespectacled man was, Francis heaved a deep sigh. It was times like these that he was reminded of just how young at heart Alfred truly was, since he greatly resembled a child burdened by guilt at the moment, shuffling on his feet and wringing his fingers together, head completely lowered.

"I understand that you are troubled, _mon ami_," The Frenchman walked closer and gave the American a few light pats on the shoulder, "But I must insist that you at least knock next time, _oui_? While Matthieu and I are annoyed at being interrupted, we are much angrier at your manner of interruption."

"…I'm sorry…" Alfred whispered, head lowering further and shoulders slumping.

"As long as you learnt your lesson, Alfred, we can forgive you." Francis spoke in an even tone, and gave a small smile as the American slowly lifted his head, expression full of surprise.

"…R-Really? Just—Just like that?"

"We can't stay mad at you forever; we are not Arthur," The longer-haired one laughed a little, shaking his head.

To that Alfred groaned and pouted; "I just wish Arthur were more like you! …Not only is he not answering, my calls won't even go through anymore!" He looked disgruntled, and kicked a small rock on the ground.

Francis frowned; "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just that this morning, since I couldn't really sleep, I decided to try calling again, but this time it just—…it won't even go through! It doesn't even ring! It's just dead!" He kicked at the rock again, but this time he kicked too hard – it flew a far distance away. He didn't feel like chasing after it, so he remained where he was and sulked.

"Are you certain it is because of _his_ end that is the problem?"

"I'm pretty sure, man! I went around the house even though I had enough reception in my room, and called New York too! Everything worked fine for my phone! I even called Ivan in Russia, and he said he could hear me perfectly fine!" It was then the Frenchman realized just how bothered and restless Alfred was.

"What are you worried about, Alfred?" Francis frowned, knowing that the current situation, thought bad, was not bad enough to cause someone as laid-back as his optimistic friend to become so agitated, unless he was missing some key information.

Alfred pressed his lips together and, after giving him a few looks as if trying to decide whether to tell or not, spoke in a hushed voice: "You can't tell anyone, yeah? I promised Arthur I wouldn't but…Well…" He brushed both of his hands through his messy, short hair and sighed; "Arthur's doing some sort of an experimental ritual; he didn't tell me anything about it other than that it was very important. I'm just—I'm just worried that something went wrong! I might know nothing about spells and stuff but I know they can be dangerous sometimes. And what's even worse is that…since I really don't know anything about magic I don't even know what _can_ happen so I can't even worry about some-_thing_! I just—…_worry_!"

Francis remained silent after the American finished speaking, a light frown on his eyebrows in thoughts, eyes never leaving the other blonde's face.

Alfred grew a little anxious after a few moments, and started to shift back and forth on his feet.

A small distance away, Yao looked up from studying a few of the large rocks placed in a semi-circle in front of him, and cast a curious glance at the westerners, wondering why the two were just standing there.

After a little while more of silent contemplation, Francis sighed, but gave Alfred a small smile; "Arthur is very experienced in his craft, Alfred. You should give him more credit and not jump to conclusions. Give it another day and call once more, and we will see what to do then, _oui_?"

"We?" Alfred asked, a little surprised.

The Frenchman was reminded of a similar episode back in Hedgewood with his little Mattieu, and laughed a little, nodding, "Yes, '_we_'." He sent a playful, teasing look at the American; "You can't possibly think I'd trust you to deal with your situation alone, Alfred. You could use some help from an expert like _moi_."

Alfred grumbled, a little embarrassed; "Yeah…You're right…" Taking a deep breath, he smiled, looking lighter in posture. "Man, talking to you really made me feel better!"

"_Bien sûr_," Francis gave a shrug, palms facing upwards.

"Right," Alfred clearly didn't know what the Frenchman said, but pulled the other close for a casual hug; "Thanks man!"

"_Je t'en prie, mon ami._"

When the two parted, the younger blonde quirked a questioning eyebrow; "Why do you speak French randomly anyways?"

"Because it is a beautiful language of course!" Francis looked surprised at the question as if Alfred had just asked something incredibly obvious, eyes growing circular; "It is mine.

"I miss speaking it immensely, but none of you are keen on learning it except for _mon petit Matthieu_." At that he sighed and shook his head, hands on his hips. "Yao has Chinatown; Ivan is back in Russia. My heart aches for France, though our work makes it inconvenient to find a good time to take vacations, and we all know with a big mouth like yours that without me, everything will become a big, messy disaster."

"Hey!" Alfred pouted, "You should give _me_ a little more credit too, you know! I'm not as stupid as y'all think I am!"

"You aren't as stupid as I think you are."

"Well, goo—…_Hey!_ What's that supposed to mean?"

Francis laughed at the huffing look of indignation the younger male gave him; "_Je plaisante, cher ami. Je suis désolé._"

Alfred blinked with a blank look. "…Uhhh…Okay…"

The Frenchman laughed once again, getting another dark look from the American.

"So," The bespectacled man said once they restarted looking for suspicious artifacts around the area, "Why _don't_ you go back to France?" When Francis gave him a look, he quickly added: "No, I don't mean it like that. I mean, as much as we will miss you with all our hearts and the world can't revolve without you constantly being with us—" Francis rolled his eyes. "-I think we'll _somehow_ survive. If you _really_ wanna go back, I'd totally understand. But, of course, it'd be better if you wait till at least Arthur comes back so we won't only have like three people of our team actually with the agency."

Francis, nudging over some broken planks of wood, did not meet Alfred's gaze.

"You know why, Alfred," His voice was low, and in half-whisper, "While I miss France, I'm afraid there won't be anyone welcoming me back."

"That's not true man! It's been such a long time already! I mean, you haven't been back since that one time we went to Paris for a case, right?"

"That changes nothing," Francis appeared to be extremely interested in nudging over planks of wood, long blonde hair falling forward and blocking his face from Alfred's view; "…I met Gilbert not long ago."

"…What? Where? In New York?" That peaked the American's interest as he took a step closer, trying to catch the Frenchman's eyes.

"_Oui_," There was a sigh as the older male discreetly turned away while pretending to check for things of interest, "Matthieu's employer at the café, Roderich, turned out to be Gilbert's cousin." At that he gave a humourless laugh; "…What are the chances…" He mumbled, so Alfred did not catch how bitter and cynical his tone of voice was.

"What's he doing in New York?"

"Matthieu said he mentioned a case; he didn't say anything else."

"Oh…"

There was an awkward silence, and Francis hoped Alfred was going to drop the subject, but, true to his nature, the hero who never knew when to stop talking started talking again.

"But what about your ol' Mom? She'd wanna see you again, wouldn't she?"

If Alfred hadn't been kicking over large rocks to see if there was anything under them, he would've noticed how the other man froze motionless.

When no reply met his questions, he tilted his head over to the Frenchman's direction; "Francis?"

Francis shook his head slightly; "I don't want to see her."

Before he even finished replying, the American sighed in a frustrated manner.

"I don't understand you Europeans man! I mean, you have so much, and your family's willing to give everything to you, so what's the problem?"

"I'm doing fine on my own." There was curtness in the tense voice.

"It's not about that!" Alfred frowned, "What's she gonna do with all that money if you don't take it?"

"What will _I_ do with all that money?" There was annoyance.

"Oh, _I donno_, maybe help _me_ help _countless_ of _other people_ who have a ghost in the attic that's causing a shit-load of problems but can't find help?"

It turned out that sarcasm didn't do well with sensitive subjects. Francis swung his body around in an instance and wore such a dark, angry glare that Alfred actually took a step back, startled.

For a moment they just looked at each other, and the shorter-haired one wanted to slap himself for his big mouth.

"…S-Sorry, man…I-I'm just—" Alfred groaned; hands rising, he messed his hair, agitated. "-just—…this money thing! It's driving me _crazy_! I'm even _dreaming_ about it sometimes now, you know!"

Francis sighed, turning his eyes away and brushing a hand through long strands of shimmering gold, naturally waved and smooth. He felt a little better as his fingers met no tangles. If there was anything that made him feel better, it was how silky his hair was.

In truth, he knew Alfred was right. The extensive wealth of his family would do no good just sitting there; it was probably a good idea to go back to France, sort things out, and find ways to use that to help the world become a better place.

Maybe Alfred's all-American heroism was contagious.

Seeing Yao looking at them with displeasure clear on his face, he realized they'd been stalling at one place of the shrine grounds for the past thirty minutes.

"I think we should try looking elsewhere; I'm quite certain there isn't anything suspicious around this area."

"Yeah," Alfred took one last look around, "We've been here for hours. I'm surprised I didn't get bored!"

Rolling his eyes, Francis shook his head, and pointed to a group of small shrubs a distance away; "Let's go look over there."

_"OUI!"_ The American cheered, and flashed him a big grin. "See? I can totally speak French! Are you feeling better now?"

The Frenchman gave him an incredulous look, but laughed.

_"Oui, Alfred…je me sens mieux."_

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translation: **(So…much…French…Correct me if anything's wrong please! DX)

_Non…j'ai entendu la sonnerie du téléphone—Oh, pardonnes-moi, Matthieu – _No I heard the telephone ring—Oh, excuse me/pardon me, Matthieu

_Chaton vilain… –_ Naughty kitten (curtsey of _Lupin Drake_; thanks darling! :D)

_mon chouchou –_ my darling (On this other website I found it said that it meant something like "my favourite blue-eyed boy/girl", is that true?)

_Matthieu…mon cher Matthieu…mon ange en sucre…Je t'aime…Je t'aime… –_ Matthieu…my dear Matthieu…my angel made of sugar (sounds much more romantic in French doesn't it? LOL) …I love you…I love you…

…_Je t'aime à la folie…_ – …I love you to madness…

_...J'ai besoin de toi…_ – …I need you…

…_J'ai besoin de tes baisers…_ – …I need your kisses…

…_Matthieu……Comment t'exprimer tout ce que je ressens ?_ – Matthieu…How could I tell you all I'm feeling?

_Je t'en prie, mon ami._ – You're welcome, my friend.

_Je plaisante, cher ami. Je suis désolé._ – I tease (I'm kidding?), dear friend. I'm sorry.

_Oui, Alfred…je me sens mieux. –_ Yes, Alfred…I feel better.

Many thanks to _radioactive edelweiss_ once again for corrections! :D

**Ending Notes:** I like writing hysterical Roderich. 8DDDD

This will be the last chapter of the "Introduction" phase of the third case; "Investigation" follows starting next chapter! Y'all didn't think I was kidding when I said this case is gonna be super long, did you? It might feel a little slow at times 'cause of the intertwining subplots with Arthur in England and also some of Ivan in Russia; I'm gonna have to develop those too alongside the main plot, hence why it'll take longer for things to move.

So sorry about that! Please bear with me! D:

With that said…I hope you guys enjoyed the little intimate scene! Though it was interrupted before anything actually happened…-hides- There is a reason that Francis and Matthew didn't get a chance to go all the way though! I need to save it till the most important moment! –nod nod–

I hope I didn't make Matthew cry too much again. o.O But I mean…C'mon guys, wouldn't you be super upset and embarrassed too? I know I would be if I were in his situation, but that might just be me. XD

For those wondering about Francis' back story, you get a little more insight! Hopefully I'm writing well enough that it'd feel like pieces slowly falling together, but I might've failed in that aspect so…LOL However, things will definitely be explained in a more straightforward manner in the future! :D

Man, I have a bunch of projects piling up on me, so for the next little while I really can't guarantee that I'd be able to keep up with the weekly updates…I'M SO SORRY! ;_; But it'll just be the next little while, and when things settle down again the update scheme will resume! Promise!

I say this every chapter but y'all will just have to hear this over and over again 'cause I honestly don't think I can ever stop saying this:

THANK YOU GUYS SO, SO MUCH FOR EVERYTHING YOU'VE DONE FOR ME—! –many hearts and tackle-glomps–

There really isn't much I can do to properly show you how much I appreciate your support and kind words except to continue writing this story as well as I can, but um…I send you…super big imaginary smooches? 8D

MUAH MUAH MUAH MUAAAAAHHHHS—!

ps: Does anyone know how to fix the Italics problem I mentioned last "Ending Notes" by any chance? It's still happening! ;_; Please help! ...Please...?

pps: Now that I think about it, is a higher rating really needed for this chapter? I didn't use any bad words, and the love scene is pretty mild...I mean I'll keep it at "M" to be safe but...What do you guys think? :O


	23. REGARDING NEXT CHAPTER

**Author's Note:**

Hey guys, how's everyone doing?

Oh man, I'm SO sorry about my lack of updates last week! ;_; It turned out that I had a LOT more school work to do than I expected, and on top of that, I got sick (Oh joy…).

I will be taking some time off to relax ('cause God knows I need it…), and will be writing all day tomorrow and on Saturday, so expect a new chapter by Monday latest! :D

I thought I should give everyone heads up and let you know what's going on so y'all won't think I forgot about you, 'cause I haven't. In fact, I've been really creepy and thinking about you (allthetime—_aHEM_…Yeah…)! –hearts–

Last Thursday was painful, and it wasn't just because of the huge load of crap I had to do or my throbbing head; I just felt so bad for not having anything to submit! ;_;

I'm really, REALLY sorry! Truly! Please forgive me!

I promise I'll have a new chapter up for you guys as soon as I can!

Well, I think the best way to redeem myself is to finish what's left of my schoolwork (unfortunately only for now…–sigh–) and maybe get a head start on the next chapter, so goodbye for now; I will talk to y'all soon! :D

Big squishy-hugs and muahs—!!

fF


	24. CASE3: H E, Investigation Part 1

**Author's Notes:** This took longer than I thought to write, but it's longer than I expected too, so horray! :D

Happy reading my darlings! –hugs–

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

When they returned to the mansion after a rather fruitless search (though all of them felt more refreshed after seeing beautiful nature), they found Matthew waiting for them at the entrance to the yard of the side house, sitting on the steps and playing with his phone.

"Matthieu?" Francis called as they walked closer, and the Canadian jolted a little.

"Hello," The strawberry blonde gave a smile, looking much more awake and higher in spirits.

"Did I startle you?" The Frenchman, approaching the young man, leaned down and gave him a kiss.

"A little bit," Matthew said after their lips parted, "I was concentrating on my game, that's all." He quickly ended the game, and put the phone back into the pocket of his red hoodie.

Kiku watched their exchange with curiosity swimming in his dark eyes, wondering about the casual way they openly displayed their affection toward each other. He often thought that intimacy was to be displayed in privacy, but kept his opinion to himself. Despite of his views, he wondered what it was like to publicly express love for another, and if his fiancée, Wang Mei, would appreciate something like that.

A lot of men and women of the younger generation seemed to adapt to this trend, but he was hesitant about whether or not it was something for him.

Deciding to ask one of the two about it later on and pushing the thought away for now, he stepped forward and addressed the team: "Should we perhaps go inside and have lunch?"

"Al_right_! Food! I'm starving!" Alfred punched in the air joyfully, especially more cheerful now that Matthew no longer glared at him with a dark pout over what happened early in the morning. "I love sushi n' all, but they don't really fill you up, you know!" No one bothered to tell him that it wasn't sushi they had in the morning; it was apparent that to the ill-informed blonde, all Japanese food was called sushi.

"Maybe it's just you, aru." Yao commented, but as soon as he finished speaking, a growl sounded from his stomach.

The Chinese man immediately blushed.

Alfred snickered, nudging the shorter male with an elbow; "What was it that you said about it just being me?" He gave a cheeky, wide grin.

Yao mumbled something under his breath that no one understood, and turned on his heels. "Anyways, we should go in now, aru." He said pointedly, and tried to ignore the amused chuckles from the rest of the group following after him.

…_Even Kiku is laughing, aru!_ Though the Japanese man was much more discreet about it.

The quintet quickly found themselves in the dining room. The household staff brought out even more dishes than during breakfast, to which Alfred all called sushi (despite of some being clearly not sushi) and dug in happily. Half way through the meal, they were informed by a maid who received a call that the equipments had arrived early, and were being brought to the estates. Matthew was glad they can finally start doing something after lunch. After all, they were treated very generously, and the Canadian wanted to repay that generosity somehow, and the best way to do that was doing a good job at what he did.

An hour and a half or so later, the team stood in front of the entrance to the main mansion, and waited anxiously for the equipments to arrive.

The building was _vast_. Matthew doubted they had enough cameras for even half of the rooms inside. It was mainly one story-high, with some parts standing at two-stories. It had beautiful, tiled rooftops and looked to be very well-kept throughout its probably lengthy history. The construction team must've done a good job, for the Canadian could not tell which parts of the building were renovated and which weren't as much as he scrutinized what he could see from his angle.

All around them was a carefully groomed garden. It was the epitome of elegance and had everything Matthew remembered seeing on that one TV show about gardens all around the globe he liked to watch back home. There was a small pond edged by rocks to the side; inside were colourful koi fish swimming leisurely. They surfaced when people walked close to them, waving their fins as if saying "hello".

As Matthew squatted next to the pond and watched them gather in front of him, he wished Ivan was with them, as the Russian would, for sure, love how friendly the fish were.

Taking out his phone, he had just started to record a video when Francis joined him.

"They are quitesomething, eh?" Matthew looked briefly to the side as the Frenchman squatted down beside him.

"_Oui_, they love the camera; that's for sure." Francis raised his eyebrows as the fish splashed in the water as if fighting to be in the shot, and the Canadian laughed.

Yao was the next to join the two, bending over to look into the pond.

"Yao!" Matthew turned and aimed his camera at the Chinese man, "Say something for Ivan!"

"-A-Aru—Wh-What?" Yao flushed red, flustered, trying to duck out of the shot; "N-No! I—I have messy hair—"

"No, you don't," The Canadian said in an encouraging voice, "Come on, at least say "hello", eh?"

"A-Aiya…" Yao ran his fingers through his hair to comb it thought it was already pretty neat; "…Ivan, aru…I-I miss you, aru…We are working very hard…Umm…I—I wish you were here with us…" His posture was abnormally stiff, and his cheeks flushed redder and redder by the second. "…I—…I don't know what else to say, aru!"

"What Yao _really_ meant to say was—" Matthew quickly turned the camera to Francis, who gave a wink, "—that he loves you and has the _most pleasurable dreams_ with you in them _every night_—"

"-D-DON'T SAY THAT, ARU!" Yao, face and ears stained crimson, was seen invading the frame and trying to muffle Francis' words, which accidentally hit truth unknowingly.

Francis, laughing and dodging attempts at covering his mouth, called out: "See how passionately he fights—"

"-STOP RECORDING, ARU!"

"Hey! I wanna be in the video too, you know!" Alfred, jogging and waving, joined the picture, and by then, Matthew had completely lost understanding as to what the video was supposed to be about.

When the equipments arrived at the mansion, Yao was seen chasing after Matthew, demanding the video to be deleted, while Alfred chased after the two of them, demanding to see his awesome self. Francis stood afar, watching with a big, amused grin and sparkling blue eyes, leisurely leaning against a tree in a rather suggestive pose he himself was not seemingly aware of.

Kiku wondered if this was their way of eliminating anxiety for their upcoming case.

~o0o0o0o0o~

"Awww, man! We haven't even gotten half of the rooms covered!" Alfred, panting from running around the mansion and carrying equipments, wiped his sweaty forehead with a towel, wearing only a short-sleeved shirt though it was a rather chilly day. Francis stood beside him, breaths a little huffed, and slightly flushed in the cheeks. He also stripped down his layers, wearing only a fitting, ruffled shirt and dress pants, with hair loosely tied back. Matthew, hands on his hips, was looking down the hall and its many doors leading to rooms still equipment-less, while Yao finished up with connecting the plugs and whatnot to a camera in the room they stood in front of.

Kiku appeared around the corner, carrying a microphone and wires; "I believe this is the last bundle."

"Thanks, Kiku!" Alfred gave a smile and took then from the Japanese man's hands; "For helping out and everything; 'cause you don't have to, you know."

"I only did the smallest of tasks, Alfred-san, but you are welcome." A small smile appeared and warmed Kiku's expressions.

"What should we do, aru?" Yao straightened up, done with the plugging, with a hand extended towards Alfred for the microphone; "We can't monitor everything like this."

"I donno," Alfred handed it over to the Chinese man, "I guess we just gotta work with what we have."

"If it is alright with you," Kiku spoke up, "You can tell me what you need, and I will prepare them for you."

Alfred's eyes lit up and looked a little hopeful, though he rubbed the back of his head and tried to be modest; "These things don't come cheap, yeah?"

"Please do not worry about the cost; my father is very determined to see this problem solved."

"Awesome! That's what I like to hear!" The American punched in the air with a bright grin, and Francis rolled his eyes.

So much for being modest.

Kiku then took out a notepad, wrote down everything that the team needed to get, and left to take care of the request, disappearing around the corner after giving a slight bow, which was returned, some awkwardly.

"Well, since we're gonna have to wait, what d'you say we take a look around?" The leader addressed his group, dabbing his neck free of moisture of exertion with the towel; "Didn't really get to see anything with all this running about."

A murmur of agreement met his suggestion.

"Alright, who's got the floor plan?"

"I have it in my pocket; hold on." Matthew took it out and carefully unfolded it. Spreading it on the floor, the team squatted down around it.

"If we plan to have a thorough inspection, it would take quite some time judging by the size of the mansion alone. Should we perhaps go separately? We will cover more rooms faster that way." Francis looked thoughtful, and reached over a hand to point at the paper on the floor; "We can easily divide the first floor into four parts, and, if we have time before the sun sets, we can all check the second floor together."

"…W-Would it be safe though, to…go alone?" Matthew looked a little uneasy.

"All supernatural activities occur at night, aru, so I think it should be fine." Yao gave an encouraging smile to the Canadian, who nodded and gratefully smiled back; "And there is less chance of getting sidetracked if we go alone." At that, he gave a meaningful look at Alfred and Francis respectively, thinking back at how the two stood on one spot at the shrine for thirty full minutes looking over the same things before they even realized what they were doing.

Alfred gave a sheepish grin; "That was 'cause we were talking, Yao."

Francis nodded; "Besides, I suspect that one can become sidetracked alone as well." He glanced over at the American.

"Hey! What did I say about giving me a little more credit?"

"-Alright, aru, we should start looking now and stop wasting time."

Still lightly bickering, Alfred and Francis (after giving his little Matthieu a peck on the lips), walked towards the east side of the house, while the other two turned to stand in front of the west.

"Do you want me to take this side?" Matthew pointed down one direction.

"Sure; I will see you in a little while then, aru."

Giving each other another smile, they walked separate ways.

After carefully checking for anything strange or out of place in a few rooms (such as possible indications of perhaps a malicious enchantment), the Canadian suddenly realized that the instructions were a little unclear, as he was not sure if they were supposed to cover the outside as well, since his section had an open walkway facing the surrounding garden. Shrugging and thinking it wouldn't hurt to look, he leaned his upper torso out, supported by arms wrapped around one of the wooden poles, and swept his eyes over the grounds.

Thinking that he wasn't doing a good enough job, he hopped down from the walkway, not minding that he was only wearing his socks, and started checking behind rocks and bushes.

He wandered onwards, finding another koi fish pond. These fish were even more enthusiastic, as if they don't see people very often, and surfaced till their mouths were above water. Laughing, the strawberry blonde squatted down and tried to tap his fingers on their lips. He wished he had some food with him so he could feed the friendly animals, since their behaviours gave an appearance indicating hunger.

Before he even noticed what he was doing, he had sat in front of the pond for the span of more or less five minutes, watching the fish.

Quickly standing up and looking around, paranoid and worried that his team mates saw him slacking off, he was rather embarrassed at himself for getting so easily side tracked right after being warned about it.

Pretending it never happened, he walked further down, and quickly found a corner. Trying to keep his feet on the little stone path of the garden, he peered around it, and saw something he did not expect.

It was a well, quite wide in diameter, at least wider than what he expected from seeing them on TV, sturdily built with large rocks, with a rather new-looking, beautiful overhanging roof. There was no bucket or rope, and, wondering how people got water from it, Matthew decided to investigate.

He didn't know if this was considered as getting sidetracked, but he was too curious.

Placing his hands on the edge of the well, he poked his head forward, and gazed down.

It was very deep, and kind of dark judging by the time of day, but that could be due to the fact that it was under the shade of the mansion. There was a damp, fresh smell, but that was expected.

The water was quite high, or at least higher than he expected, about six or seven feet down from ground level. It was so clear he could see the walls of the well all the way down until it was too dark. He could also see his face reflected against the sky. It was like a mirror, especially by how still it was.

There weren't any ripples, but Matthew reasoned that it was probably normal since there was nothing disturbing it. Feeling a little creeped out by how dead the surface was, he stood upright, and looked around. When he saw no one, he bent down and picked up a small rock.

Feeling extremely silly, he double-checked that he was truly alone before turning back to the mouth of the well.

Looking down once again, he felt as if he was gazing into an endless hole, or a bottomless cave, and it made him very much on edge for some reasons.

It felt as though it was sucking him in, and, all of a sudden, this completely innocent structure started to make him anxious, especially by how the water inside it did not stir.

His reflection stared back at him, and he gulped, a nervous tingle prickling his spine.

He raised his hand holding the small rock; it was then he noticed that it was shaking.

_Stop being so silly; just do it and get it over with…Come on, Matthew, you have a lot more rooms to check…_

Holding his hand out until it reached to approximately where the middle of the well was and taking a deep breath, he opened his fingers, and released the rock.

It fell in with a small "plonk", and quickly disappeared as it sunk down.

Ripples waved outwards in the water until they met the walls, and bounced back.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the Canadian felt even sillier.

_What were you expecting, eh?_ He asked himself, shaking his head, and gave a small laugh.

The sound echoed within the well.

Deciding he should put his focus back to the inspection, he pushed himself away and walked off.

From his hasty depart, he didn't notice the scratch marks on the top surface of the wall of the well, as if a heavy lid of some sort was forcefully pushed off; nor did he notice that, as soon as he turned his eyes away, the ripples immediately disappeared, and the water was, once again, deadly still.

~o0o0o0o0o~

"Did you guys find anything?" Alfred asked as everyone met up at where they separated, looking around the small semi-circle.

"No, we didn't find anything suspicious, aru." Yao answered for Matthew as well, having met up with the Canadian earlier and talked about it.

"We didn't either." Alfred said; "Should we check upstairs then?"

"Do we have enough time?" Francis asked, turning his eyes to look out the window showing a garden basking in late-afternoon sunlight and a sky of white clouds already starting to tint red.

"I suggest we come back tomorrow, aru, since we need to set up more equipments anyways when Kiku gets them." Yao didn't look too keen on the idea of having a second search since the first one took such a long time.

Taking out his phone and checking the time, Matthew was surprised by how much time had passed since they started the task.

"As I was looking," Francis' voice roused him from his time-checking, "I also tried to see if I could find clues from the history of this mansion, and the land it stands upon, but strangely…" The Frenchman's eyebrows furrowed, bewildered and in disbelief, "…I…I couldn't see anything. Of course there were things I picked up, but none of them were very significant. There were no deaths aside from those from natural causes; life has been very…peaceful here."

"Why the pause?" Alfred surprised everyone that he actually caught it.

"As I was going through all I was seeing, it was very…unclear, as if fleeting snowflakes. I could grasp onto ideas, but as soon as I tried to delve deeper for a better picture, everything fades away. I get the feeling that there are more to it, but they are hidden, though I do not know how." Francis' eyes went to the wall, as if it held all the answers, which was probably true for someone with his ability.

"Hidden?" Alfred pressed on, confused.

"_C'est bizarre, oui..._" The Frenchman mumbled, deep in thoughts; "_Ce s'est senti—_" He got a nudge on the arm from Alfred's elbow, and switched to English, "-It felt…distant, and dark, like deep water, somewhere I could not reach." He suddenly shuddered. "I have a feeling I do not want to reach into it."

Matthew couldn't help but become reminded of the well.

"Well, something's definitely goin' on here then," The team nodded to Alfred's statement; "I guess the best thing t'do for now's just to head back to the side house and try to do some research," At that the American grimaced, obviously not looking forward to what he considered as dry and boring work. "Maybe we can schedule interviews for some of the household staff that was here when the…uhhh…'_attack_' happened that one time."

"That sounds like a good plan, aru." Yao nodded.

No objections were made as the quartet ran a last check to make sure their equipments were set up properly, and started heading back to the side house.

~o0o0o0o0o~

_He was submerged in water, yet, strangely, he could breathe._

_No…it wasn't that he could breathe._

_He didn't need to._

_How strange…Why…_

_He looked up; the mouth of the well looked so far away, merely a thin ring of light being blocked by something that kept him deep within it, confined, imprisoned…_

…_Waiting…_

_He was calm—_

_No, not quite…_

_It was a knowing anticipation._

_He was a trained warrior of the land of the rising sun._

_He could wait; he was patient._

_He didn't know how long he waited, sitting at the bottom, feeling the cool water soothe his senses._

_Then, suddenly, a sound._

_His eyes snapped open, staring intently at the lid._

_It was moving, little by little._

_Light started to flood into the well, and he felt a smile tug at his lips._

_It was time, he knew._

_It was God's will for him to rise again, to return to the world._

_To punish those who ruined him…_

…

"…Matthieu."

He groaned, snuggling deeper into whatever it was that was warm and huggable.

"…Matthieu, it's time for dinner." The voice was gentle, and he felt a hand on his cheek. The touch was soft, and brushed aside some of the hair that fell across his face.

"…Dinner…?"

"_Oui_," The voice chuckled; the sound was deep, and soothing, and he smiled, nestling closer to the warmth.

The "warmth" he held in his arms stiffened for some reasons, and, curious, he opened his eyes.

At first, through blurry-ness and general confusion, he couldn't figure out what he was nuzzling his face against.

Blinking the sleepiness out of his eyes, they grew round as it suddenly hit him.

One arm hugging Francis' thighs while the other was wrapped tightly around Francis' waist, his head, comfortably laid down on the Francis' lap, had moved itself through his snuggles.

His face was placed right over the Frenchman's crotch.

…_So that's why it's so warm…_

He immediately felt his cheeks flame into a hard blush.

"—I-I'm so sorry!" Matthew squeaked and instantly started scrambling to get up, but, still somewhat disoriented and not finding his balance, he failed on numerous attempts, and accidentally rubbed his face all over the crotch it pressed into.

Francis winced and hissed, back jolting completely upright and straight, biting back a strangled moan. Through his little Matthieu's rather hysterical struggles, he found that the slim arms around his body had tightened further, and he could not lift them to help the now spluttering Canadian sit up.

Face heating up slightly, he realized that everyone in the dining room was staring rather blatantly at the two of them, with Alfred snickering and the Asians with goldfish expressions.

Kiku held a cup of tea in his hands, mouth partly opened to take a sip, but was stopped in mid-action, dark eyes round and wide, shock written all over his face.

Trying to ignore Matthew's nose poking at somewhere sensitive, Francis, looking away from the audience and pretending to not feel them watching, patted the strawberry blond head.

"…Matthieu…Let me—" _–__**Oh mon Dieu**__ he could __**feel**__—_ "-Let me help you up."

The arms around him loosened a little, and he held onto them before pulling the Canadian up into a sitting position.

Matthew's head was completely down, but it was clear that his cheeks fully crimson.

"…S-Sorry…" He murmured, taking his hands back and wringing them together, glancing up at his French lover with apologetic eyes.

"I must admit I didn't really mind, _mon petit_~" Trying to humourously elevate some of the embarrassment, Francis cooed in a suggestive tone, and leaned forward to give the Canadian a kiss on the forehead.

A particularly loud snicker caught both their attentions, and, Alfred, with one look into their eyes, burst out laughing.

Matthew didn't think it was possible for him to blush harder.

"S-Stop that!" He whined when the American started to laugh even harder. Grabbing one of the cushions meant for them to sit on with his hand, he threw it over the table.

It hit Alfred square in the face.

"—OOOOW!" The cushion fell off to reveal Alfred's red nose and pained, but surprised expression; "…Mattie! I didn't know you could aim so well!"

"You want to test that aim again?" Narrowing his eyes slightly as threateningly as he could, he armed himself with another cushion, and bit back a grin of amusement and victory when Alfred actually cowered and held his arms up in defense.

"NO!" Alfred cried out; he didn't know what those cushions were stuffed with, but he knew all too well that they hit quite unexpectedly hard when being smacked with them. "Please, Mattie, no!"

With a pointed "Humph!", the Canadian put it down, and huffed, looking like a flustered, fluffy bird, "You should think twice next time before laughing at another person's—…erm…_struggles_, eh!"

"I'm sorry, Mattie!"

There was a pause as Matthew waited for more, but none came. Eyes narrowing a little once again threateningly, his hand inched towards the cushion.

"-A-And Francis! And Francis! Sorry!" Alfred immediately added.

"Good!" Matthew, despite of trying to keep a straight, menacing face, smiled with a small chuckle; "And you totally deserved that!"

Alfred, in a rush of self-justification, rose higher in his seat to protest, but, as his lips opened, he suddenly paused. Sinking back down into a more comfortable and casual posture, he rubbed his nose and laughed: "Yeah…I guess I kinda did."

A murmur of laughter filled the room, and Kiku, hiding a small smile, finally took the sip of his tea that was interrupted.

Muffling a yawn, Matthew gave his body a stretch, and heaved a deep sigh. "I'm so tired…What time is it?"

"It's a little over seven p.m., aru, but in New York it's six in the morning." Yao answered, "Technically we haven't slept for an entire night."

"How come you guys aren't sleepy?" The Canadian rubbed his teary eyes.

"I'm pretty sleepy too, aru," Yao smiled in understanding, "We should turn in early tonight."

"Awww, can't we at least try the hot springs?" Alfred whined, "I've been looking forward to that ever since Kiku told us about it!"

Matthew reasoned that he must've missed it during his nap.

"I look forward to a night of proper sleep," Francis brushed a hand through his hair, now untied, and sent a meaningful look across the table at Alfred, "And would appreciate no interruptions. I hope you understand, _mon ami_?" While his tone was firm, his eyes held a playful, almost teasing twinkle.

"Oh come on! Can't we just pretend that never happened?" The American stuck out his bottom lip.

At the looks he got from the couple facing him, he assumed that the answer was "no".

The dinner was quickly brought in by the household staff. After thanking the lady who brought his food, Matthew happily dug in, suddenly aware of how empty his stomach was.

A light conversation about koi fish started, but eventually became more professional as Alfred began asking about the mansion, clumsily picking up sushi, which were, in fact, sushi this time.

"How old is the building exactly, Kiku?"

"It is the oldest in the area, but it is not considered historical," Kiku explained, "Before my family purchased this land, there was another building, but it was too broken down and had too many problems to be redone, so it was torn apart."

"Is there anything of the original building that was here that remained?" The American asked in a casual tone of voice, but his eyes were alert and attentive.

"The shrine, which we left the way it is, and the surrounding land are perhaps the only places that have been kept as they were purchased. We are thinking of cultivating the land, but the plan has been pushed off until the problems with the mansion are solved."

Alfred hummed, and turned to speak to Francis: "Perhaps we oughtta go back to the shrine so you can do your thing. Maybe the original building parts will have more to see than the mansion."

Francis gave a small nod, expression thoughtful.

"Hey, Kiku," Alfred turned back to the Japanese man, "I was wondering, can we interview your staff that was there during the night of the attack? It'd be great if we could get a head start on where to start lookin' for clues, you know, for research and stuff."

"I will make arrangements; when would you like to have your interview?"

"Maybe tomorrow evening after we're done at the mansion?" Alfred looked around at his team, seeking approval.

"That sounds good, aru." Yao answered, while Matthew and Francis nodded.

"Alright, awesome!" Vibrant blue eyes sparkling, the American looked excited to be finally getting a move-on in their investigations; "So tomorrow morning we'll head to the shrine, and in the afternoon we can go set up the cameras Kiku got for the rest of the mansion and check the second floor. In the evening we'll talk to the staff people, and hopefully go to the hot springs at night!" He flashed a bright grin at the thought of hot springs. "_Man_, I've never been to hot springs before! I've seen Japanese kinds on TV and stuff, but I bet it's totally different when you're actually there, yeah? So what are we supposed to wear when we go? Swimming shorts?"

Yao shook his head and rolled his eyes; Francis chuckled.

"Just-Just out of curiosity, eh?" Matthew felt a little bad cutting through Alfred's happy, energetic chatter, though the other blonde didn't look like he minded, "Francis…" He addressed the one sitting next to him, "Sorry if this is silly or-or asking too much, but…since you see things when you touch them, can't you, maybe, just touch the ground? Wouldn't that make things easier?"

Francis blinked; he hummed a little under his breath as he thought of an easy way to explain, but was beaten to it by Alfred.

"Nah, the land has too much useless information. Francis' gonna be there for _hours_ sorting through everything. I'd imagine that'd give him a splittin' headache too."

"Oh…" Matthew looked down at his food.

"It was a good suggestion, _mon chéri_," The Frenchman gave a reassuring, warm smile. Matthew's heart swelled in adoration; Francis always knew exactly what to say.

"Should we take turns to watch the monitors tonight, aru?" Yao spoke up next, "I know we don't have everything covered, but it would still be wise to keep an eye on them, right?"

"Yeah," Alfred nodded and, swallowing down a mouthful of sushi, continued, "So who wanna watch them tonight?"

After a brief discussion, it was decided that Yao would take the first watch starting from the time after dinner till midnight (Matthew had a hunch that the Chinese man was going to spend it talking on the phone with Ivan), and Alfred would, after a nap, take the second watch (Matthew also had a hunch who the American will spent the hours calling). Francis volunteered to take the third watch early in the morning before sun rise. When Matthew suggested going with him, the Frenchman gave him a peck on the lips and said the best thing for him to do to help was to rest.

That reminded him of the dream he had while napping, and, turning towards Kiku, he voiced his question: "Kiku…you know the big well in the garden of the mansion—"

Kiku immediately perked up; "Oh! Of course—" Looking a little embarrassed, he bowed a little apologetically; "Please forgive me; I completely forgot about it. Yes, there is a well. It is very old." That peaked the team's attention and interest; "It is one of the only things that were not torn down; father wanted to keep it as it was well-built and provided fresh water."

Matthew nodded, and chose his next words carefully, "I'm just curious…Was there—Was there anything…_strange_ about the well when you guys…you know…first found it?"

"Strange?" Kiku frowned a little, not quite understanding what was being asked.

"W-Well, just…you know, in general…" The Canadian looked a little self-conscious as all eyes turned towards him.

At that Kiku thought for a long time, trying to remember everything he could regarding the subject.

"…No, I do not believe there was anything strange. We checked its water and depth before deciding if it was fine for consumption; it is a pretty standard well, I believe."

"Oh…Okay." Matthew frowned; he was certain that, in his dream, he was someone who was at the bottom. But he was also certain that if the well was opened and there was a body inside it, people would see right away, or at least find it when checking the water and whatnot.

_Then what was that dream about…?_

Thinking that maybe he was just feeling paranoid about the rock he threw inside it, he brushed it aside.

Nodding and making a decision that that was probably the case, he popped another sushi into his mouth, unaware that Francis was looking at him with a slight tilt of head, blue eyes shimmering with curiosity as to why he brought up the subject.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Ivan was on his break and eating lunch with Yekaterina (who had the morning off from work and brought food to eat together) when he received a text message on his phone. It was from Matthew, and, attached with it, was a video.

_Hello Ivan!_

The message read.

_How are you?_

_I'm so sorry I haven't really been calling you to see how you are. _L _Yao usually tells us about what you are doing and stuff to keep us updated._

_To make up for not calling, I have an interesting video to show you!_

_Hope you like it! (Francis sends a wink)_

_Anyways, I'll talk to you later, eh?_

_Forever your friend,_

_Matt_

_Ps: Everyone says "hi"._

Blinking curiously, he opened the video, and was immediately greeted by the sight of many colourful fish swimming and happily flapping their fins in a pond, nudging each other aside as if fighting to get into the shot, heads tilted upwards and mouths opening and closing enthusiastically.

Ivan gasped, eyes widening and glittering with excitement and delight.

"_Sister! Look! Look!_" He called out ecstatically, almost bouncing on the bench, and leaned closer to the young woman beside him so that she could see the video too.

Yekaterina took one look at the video, and immediately broke into a big smile.

"_They are adorable, Vanya!_" She exclaimed. "_Where are they from?_" She glanced at Ivan, and asked.

"_They are from Japan, yes~? A friend I met in New York, Matthew, sent this video of them to me just now._" He had just opened his lips to tell Yekaterina about the many adventures he went on with the Canadian around the city when a voice sounded from the video.

"**They're quite something, eh?"**

"_That was Matthew!_" Ivan's eyes grew brighter, and the two siblings huddled closer to hear better (though Yekaterina had no idea what was being said).

"_**Oui**_**, they love the camera; that's for sure."**

"_That was Francis!_" The Russian man quickly explained to his sister: "_He is another friend of mine from New York; he and Matthew are together in a romantic relationship._"

There was a shuffle of foot steps, and suddenly, the image blurred as the camera turned.

"**Yao!"**

A familiar face, slightly startled in expression, framed by long, dark hair appeared.

Ivan's eyes widened, and his breaths hitched a little as his heart fluttered.

"**Say something for Ivan!"** Matthew's voice rang through the phone.

"**-A-Aru—Wh-What?"** Yao's face turned beet red, and his dark, almond-shaped eyes rounded. **"N-No! I—I have messy hair—"** He looked embarrassed, but so incredibly cute that Ivan felt a rush of warmth and adoration spread through his body as a small, shy smile formed on his lips, cheeks pinking.

"**No, you don't,"** The Canadian spoke behind the camera again, **"Come on, at least say 'hello', eh?"**

"**A-Aiya…"** Yao brushed his slender fingers through his hair; **"…Ivan, aru…"**

The Russian felt his heartbeat quicken. He leaned forward slightly, eyes unblinking, completely attentive.

"…**I-I miss you, aru…"**

Ivan's lips parted a little in a silent intake of soft breath.

"…**We are working very hard…Umm…"** Yao stood awfully straight. **"I—I wish you were here with us…"**

He felt his heartbeat quicken.

"…**I—…I don't know what else to say, aru!"** The Chinese man flushed even redder, and Ivan couldn't help but let out a small laughter.

"_What's he saying, Vanya?_" Yekaterina asked, watching the many emotions sparkle in the bright, violet orbs of her brother's eyes.

The Russian man was just going to explain, but a voice from the video cut in.

"**What Yao really meant to say was—"** The camera shifted angles again, and Francis suddenly came into view, looking as well-groomed and fabulous as ever with smiling eyes, **"—that he loves you and has the most pleasurable dreams with you in them every night—"**

Ivan's eyes widened; it was his turn to flush beet red.

"**-D-DON'T SAY THAT, ARU!"** Yao instantly jumped into frame, and was seen trying to muffle the Frenchman's mouth.

The blonde only laughed good-naturedly and dodged; **"See how passionately he fights—"**

"**-STOP RECORDING, ARU!"**

"_What's happening?_" Yekaterina, glancing back and forth between the video and her brother (who was nuzzling his face against his scarf in a shy manner with very red cheeks), wore a confused but curious expression.

"**Hey! I wanna be in the video too, you know!"** Another voice cut in louder than the rest, and Alfred suddenly appeared, grinning widely and vibrant eyes sparkling.

Francis was still shouting out sentences, but it was getting harder and harder to understand him as Yao, who started blurting out Chinese phrases, tackled him over and was getting better at muffling his words.

The two were barely in the frame anymore, while Alfred happily dominated the whole scene and began striking rather ridiculous-looking poses (such as stereotypical bodybuilder ones) in what he thought was a proud and heroic manner.

After a few more seconds, the video ended, and the general havoc stopped.

Silence followed as violet eyes continued to stare at the screen.

Small snow flakes fell from the sky overhead leisurely, almost light enough to float on air as they drifted back and forth, delicate and beautiful.

"…_Vanya…?_"

Despite of how the generally hyperactive stars of the video were all in high spirits, Ivan wore a strangely somber expression.

His fingers were tightly wrapped around his phone.

"…_Ivan?_" Yekaterina called out softly again, peering over a little, trying to catch her brother's eyes. "_Is something wrong?_"

Ivan didn't answer right away. His eyes held hesitance.

He nibbled on his lips, as if unsure, but in the end, spoke softly:

"…_I…_"

He paused, and took a small breath.

Pale eyelashes fluttered around violet orbs; he sighed.

"…_I miss them…Katyusha…_"

The quiet murmur was muffled by the scarf. With eyes downcast, looking at the screen of his phone but unseeing, his pale eyebrows were slightly furrowed with sadness.

His lips trembled as he opened and closed them.

There was another admittance hanging on the edge, but it was hard to say it.

He swallowed, biting the inside of his mouth.

He wanted to say it, but his throat felt dry and constricted every time he tried.

Blinking and taking shallow breaths, he avoided the bright, loving eyes of his sister.

"_I—I'm very happy, yes~?_" He turned his head away, hiding his face, voice small; "_I'm-I'm very happy to be with Yekaterina; we are happy here – a family, and I don't want you to—I don't want you to think that I'm—_"

A gentle, smaller hand was placed on top of his holding the phone, and his next words died in his throat.

He felt the warm body next to his shift a little; Yekaterina leaned her head against his shoulder.

Another gentle, smaller hand wrapped around his arm.

Instantly, he felt as though he was a child again, and that his big sister Katyusha was going to make everything better.

"…_I…_"

He whispered:

"…_I miss Yao…_"

He admitted.

It was barely a breath – a white cloud appeared in front of his face as he said it in the cold.

"…_Tell me about Yao, Vanya._" The hand wrapped around his arm patted it reassuringly and encouragingly; Yekaterina's voice was sweet, calming, and coaxing.

As if under a spell, he felt his lips open, little by little and shaky.

Words spilled over.

"_Yao…_

"…_I met Yao…when I was in America…_

"_It was during one of the first cases since Alfred started his agency, and it was at a scary place. It was very dark, and big…_

"…_It was a prison._"

Yekaterina tensed a little, but didn't say anything and merely waited for him to continue.

"_There were many bad ghosts there…but most of them were not a danger to me, because I could use my pipe on them, yes? One of my friends, Francis, was in trouble, so I was going to save him. I wasn't scared at all, but—but—…_" He swallowed as memories of the case that could've turned horribly wrong crept forth from the dark corners of his consciousness.

"…_You see, to me, big sister, ghosts are like people, yes? Most of the time, ghosts hurt people because people can't touch them, but I can touch them, and they can't use special powers on me, so I am very safe because I am big, yes?_

"…_I was-I was going to save my friend. I was on my way, and everything was going well, but—but then—_" He abruptly stopped, and, for several moments, there was only silence.

"…_There was—…There was one ghost…_"

His spoke in a weak whisper, eyes hidden under strands of light blond hair that fell forward as his head tilted down. "_…There was once ghost…and he—he was—…_

"…_He was terrifying…_

"…_He was…almost as big as I am, and wore a big coat with a hat…He was a General in his lifetime, falsely accused and placed in that prison, where he died. He was older than me, much older than me, and that didn't scare me…but—…but—_" Voice suddenly hitching with his breath, his hands instantly shot up and grabbed onto the sides of his upper arms, fingers clenching around the thick fabrics of his coat as his body shook, violet eyes wide and unblinking under the curtain of his hair, glinting brightly.

"_-he was—he was so cold…! He was so cold, sister! His eyes—His eyes were like the coldest of winter nights, and I—I couldn't move—!_" Biting his lips to stop himself from describing what happened next that would no doubt make Yekaterina beyond upset, he skipped over a whole chapter in his storytelling and went on:

"…_And then Yao…Yao came…_

"…_Yao came…and sent the General away with magic…_

"…_And it was warm again…_"

The shine in his eyes softened, as did his posture. He gave a small sigh, and his fingers loosened around his arms

"…_Yao saved me from the General…He was so amazing, Katyusha!_" Turning to face his sister, Ivan wore a smile, cheeks sporting a pink that was almost shy, and beaming eyes; "_It was the first time I met Yao, and afterwards, he helped us cleanse the place so that the ghosts could all move on._

"_When we went separate ways afterwards, I was so sad, because I thought I will never see him again, but one day when I went to Alfred's agency in the morning, when I opened the door, I saw Yao, yes~!" _The smile widened into a big, happy grin;_ "Alfred stumbled upon Yao and found out that he was in New York too! So he asked Yao to join the agency, and, after talking to his father, Yao agreed!_

"_Yao didn't speak English as well back then, so I helped him with many things because I wanted to thank him for saving me. We became friends, yes~? And solved many cases with Alfred and Francis when more comrades like Matthew and his cousin, Arthur, joined the agency too._

"…_When I—…When I really miss home, Yao would tell me stories of his brother and sister, and I would tell him about you and—_" Immediately hitting a stop, he glanced over at his older sister, eyes round, afraid as though he'd said something taboo.

"_-and Natalia._" Yekaterina finished for him, giving a supportive, but slightly sorrowful smile.

"…_and Natalia…yes…_" Returning the smile with a similar one of his own, Ivan tilted his head and leaned it against his sister's, nuzzling a little.

"…_Yao is always kind to me, and he always listens when I talk about sunflowers…He took me to many dinners in Chinatown, and introduced me to many yummy food…He is always nice to me…He bought me a fish tank and pretty fish too, sister! Oh you will love the pretty fish, yes—!_" A joyful expression appeared on his face, and he almost cheered. But, just as quickly as the expression came, it faded away.

"…_And after—after Natalia…After Natalia…passed away…_" Yekaterina's hand squeezed his a little, offering comfort; "_After she passed away…Yao visited me…_

"_At first I didn't want to see anyone, because I didn't want anyone to see me—…to see me sad, yes…?_" There was a soft, shaky sniff from the young woman leaning against him. He closed his eyes against the slight burn of rising tears so that they wouldn't become anything more than that, and gently squeezed her hand back.

"_But Yao waited outside the door, because he didn't want me to be lonely._

"…_I thought he'd leave after a little while, but he just waited and waited…After a little while, I let him in because it was cold outside, and he held my hands…_

"…_He came everyday, and sometimes stayed overnight to make sure I wasn't lonely. He always cooked my favourite food though I wasn't hungry…and one day, he brought over scrolls of paper and a little bundle…_

"_I asked him what it was, and he said it was paper, ink, and brushes for traditional Chinese water painting. I asked him what they were for, and he said…_

…

…**Natalia is very, **_**very**_** smart, da~!**

…

"…_He said—…_

…

……**She taught me how to draw sunflowers…**

…

"…_he was going to teach me how to paint sunflowers…_

"……—_And I…_

"…_I…_"

Violet eyes slowly fluttered open, glassy and bright as if clear, crystal orbs.

Looking up at the sky covered by thick clouds, he couldn't quite see the fluffy snowflakes floating down from them as his vision was blurry

"…_And I love him, Katyusha…_

"…_I think I love him…_"

Snow fell, and landed on his cheeks. He barely felt them, except for the small sting of cold as they melted against his skin.

For moments, all was still, and silent.

A sudden movement beside him startled him out of his temporary reverie.

Yekaterina shot up from the bench, standing tall and looking determinedly in front of her.

For moments, she didn't make any movements except for biting down on her trembling lips.

Tears were almost overflowing in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

"…_Y-Yekaterina…?_" Ivan asked tentatively, confused and a little alarmed.

She turned towards him with a sharp jerk of her head, and he jumped a little, wondering when she had started looking almost…intimidating.

With a few steps, she left her spot standing in front of the bench to directly in front of him.

Looking up at the young woman, the younger male blinked, scooting back a little on the bench, appearing almost apprehensive at the serious expression on her face.

"_Ivan, there's something you need to do._" She addressed him with a tone that was uncharacteristic of her; it was firm, and resolute.

"…_Um……Y—Yes…?_" He almost squeaked; _almost_ because Ivan Braginski does _not_ squeak…da…

Reaching forward in an abrupt motion and grabbing onto his much larger hands, she clenched them tightly in hers, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to be unyielding.

There was strength behind her teary eyes, which sparkled passionately. In a slightly wavering voice, she nodded at him, and spoke:

"_You must let him know how you feel, Ivan; you must tell him…Yao, I mean._"

Ivan blinked, momentarily speechless, staring up at his sister with round eyes, lips somewhat parted.

"…_Oh Vanya…_" An affectionate smile blossomed on her face as her eyes lost some of their intensity, replaced by adoration. She lifted a hand from his, and wrapped it around one of his cheeks. It was not her palm but a woolen mitten that touched his skin, but he leaned into it nonetheless, because it was warm. "_…My beautiful Vanya…My dear little brother…_

"…_I'm so happy for you…!_"

Hearing her loving words, compounded by the sheer relief and happiness at finally being able to speak out and admit his feelings, made a million swarming emotions spill over inside his heart. Nose suddenly feeling rather sour, he bit on his quivering lips, and gazed deeply and intently into his sister's eyes as hot tears fell streaming down his cheeks.

"…_Big sister~~!_" Pulling the young woman forward with a rather harsh yank, he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face against her stomach, nuzzling and irritating his bare skin as it rubbed against her coat.

Yekaterina was a little shocked at first, but quickly shook herself out of it as a revelation hit her. Cradling his head with one hand and patting it gently with another, she began to calm him with soft coos.

"…_Shhhh…It's okay, Vanya; you'll see him again, yes~?_" Blinking and unintentionally causing a few droplets of tears to roll down her pale face, her gaze held tender understanding and love, smile never wavering; "_…Oh Vanya…No matter how big you grow, underneath everything, you are still that little boy who likes to cry, aren't you…?_"

Ivan didn't speak, but nodded earnestly as he muffled the sad noises leaving his lips.

Yekaterina laughed a little, breathily and good-naturedly:

" _Oh Vanya…poor Vanya…my little brother…_

"…_It's okay to cry…It's okay to cry…because good boys cry when they are sad……_

"_I'm sorry I wasn't there with you when you had hard times, alone and so far away from home…_

"…_But I'm here now, and everything will be alright…_"

Her eyes were a little glazed as she repeated words she'd uttered the night after their parents were laid down to an eternal rest:

"…_Big sister will take care of you, and make sure you are happy…_"

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Ending Notes: **Awwww, Ivan misses his Yao-Yao~ –huggles– Hopefully I didn't make it too sappy; even if I did…I don't really have time to fix it…sorry about that! . –hides–

Ivan and Yekaterina's dialogue is in Italics because they were talking to each other in Russian, but I didn't wanna actually write them down_ in_ Russian 'cause if I did, not even I would be able to tell what they're exactly saying afterwards. XD

Before I run off to another week or so of schoolwork hell (I swear by the end of this when the break comes I'm gonna just stay home and not do a thing for a week. Something's wrong with my teachers I tell you! They're all in this together!), I would like to give **SPECIAL THANKS **to:** lady-ribbon, RainbowHeart, thelivinggirl, Hispanic Tenshi, Lochesh, randomrevieweroffthenet, Lady Scribetracker, ichigoknight, Petit-Sapphire-Jai, Julesie, I Brake For Bishounen Boys, radioactive edelweiss, Gabriel Mehayel, LadyCorall20, Alpha Kan't Spell, awesomeone, Shelly-Sells-SheaShells, **and** s.a.r.a **for your touching words of support and kindness while reviewing "Chapter23"/in your PMs; you are all such sweethearts! ;_;

I'm so sorry I haven't been replying; I really feel super bad, but I didn't wanna just reply back with a "thanks" and that's it 'cause it feels indecent for me to do, so hopefully this chapter suffices in expressing how thankful I am to everything you've done for me! And this goes out to everyone who takes their time to read this story as well! You guys have no idea how much you cheer me up!

I really don't think I'll be able to come up with a new chapter by Thursday, BUT, judging by how things are right now, I should sprout something out by next Thursday and – I'm crossing my fingers real hard! – go back to the regular updating schedule. Wish me luck! :D

Oh man…I was hoping to catch Valentine's Day for a special, but that seems unlikely right now…However, in my defense…in the next chapter one couple will be having some fun! –wink wink–

Thanks so, so much for everything everyone's done for me once again! Goodbye for now, and I'll talk to y'all soon!

MUAHS—! –many hearts–

Ps: _LadyCorall20_ has informed me that she's the 500th reviewer – congrats darling! –glomps– Which means…holy crap…I have 500+ reviews now! O_O THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU—! –cries heaps of thankful tears–

I want to write something for this occasion, but it will have to wait till later; please hold me to it! And, if you have any suggestions/ideas as to what you would like to see, please drop me a note! ;)


	25. CASE3: H E, Investigation Part 2

**Author's Notes:** So sorry for the lateness! Please don't be angry! D:

Hopefully this chapter will make you not angry at me. ;_;

_Warning:_ Fellow perverts rejoice! There be smexy-ness upcoming! –hearts–

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

"…I—…-I can't believe this is happening, aru…" Yao whispered, face flushed and eyes squeezed shut as if unable to see for himself what he was actually doing.

After dinner and an unsuccessful attempt at trying to stop Matthew from sending the video of the koi fish with Francis jokingly and unknowingly exposing sensitive material, Yao had been almost dreading to call Ivan, but it could not be avoided, since he had promised to call and tell him of updates on the case.

The Russian sounded very excited and expectant of the call the last time they talked. He was getting off work early in the afternoon from the candy store on that day, which meant they could talk to each other longer.

Yao really did try his best to stop the video from being sent. However, it turned out that Kungfu didn't really help after having a little too many drinks of _Sake_ because of a stupid dare from a stupid American ("I'll show you Chinese people can definitely hold their liquor, aru!") and generally freaking out. In the end, Matthew, convinced that this was for the better, sent the video by encouragements from a grinning Frenchman (who Yao believed the Canadian trusted a little too much of) with sparkling eyes, who looked too delighted and amused to Yao's liking.

_Kiku didn't even help, aru!_

In fact, the Japanese man looked confused and a little wary, unused to seeing his usually calm and collected soon-to-be brother-in-law and childhood-friend act so unlike himself, for the lack of a better word. He even took out his notepad and started taking notes, mumbling about "strange western culture" and needing "further observation and studies" in Japanese, which Yao understood a little of.

As the evening finally reached a close, Matthew, practically falling over from sleepiness, was carried away by Francis wishing a good night to the group, while Alfred, humming something out of tune under his breath, made his way to take a bath after a quick good-bye to Kiku and a small request for Yao to wake him up at midnight to change shifts for watching the monitors. Kiku left soon after that, excusing himself to leave the team to their rest.

"…I miss you, Yao…You know that, da…?" The voice on the other end was slightly breathy, but its childlike tone nonetheless prominent.

Yao blushed harder; how could Ivan still retain that voice when doing something like this?

It made the situation all the more perverse, but sinfully delicious.

Yao had no idea how it escalated into this in the first place.

The call started out normal enough; Ivan said he received the video, and wished he could be there to see all the colourful koi fish. He did not hesitate at all before moving on to address the latter part of the video, regarding Francis' statements. Yao, mustering up all his courage after deciding that there was really no point in denying it any longer, since their mutual attraction was pretty obvious even before any Frenchman said anything, admitted to them. A somewhat nerve-wrecking (at least for him) silence hung over the line afterwards, and suddenly, Ivan blurted out a loud exclaim in Russian.

It was several moments later that he realized the Chinese man had no idea what he said, and he repeated his sentence in English – a shy murmur of "I love Yao too…da…~".

What followed were many happy, albeit a little embarrassed, soft laughter from both ends.

After some time of talking over how they were going to work out their relationship (with the Russian bursting into ecstatic cheers every now and then), Ivan asked about his dreams, and, in a grumble, Yao explained and elaborated.

There was a huge chunk of conversation where the Chinese man could not, for the love of pandas, figure out just _what_ was said that made something like what was happening happen.

…_What the hell happened, aru?_

All he knew was that, whatever they were talking about, had led to _this_.

"Are-Are you sure—"

"Da…Da, I am sure, Yao…Yao is so _cute_…" There was a small giggle, and Yao almost bristled from embarrassment alone.

"But what if your sister suddenly comes home unexpectedly and—"

"Yekaterina has a long afternoon and evening shift at work today; she will not return home unexpectedly…I locked my room door, just in case, so Yao does not need to worry, da~~" Yao could _hear_ the wide, gleeful grin and violet eyes shinning with delight and desire, and imagined Ivan lying in his bed in a curtain-drawn, dark bedroom, lips pressed close to the phone he held in big hands speaking in a soft voice.

Despite of the childlike way the Russian carried himself, it was surprisingly easy for Yao to get used to the sudden switch of events to something that should never be associated with a child in any sense or form. But Ivan was no child despite of how he acted, and, on that night, that fact was apparent.

"Tell me, Yao…What are you doing~~?" It was like sharing a dirty secret; Yao bit his lips to stop a whimper, fingers stroking the heat between his legs while he desperately wanted to pretend that he was _not_ having phone sex.

"I—I'm…I'm…touching…" His voice was so quiet and huffed he was worried Ivan didn't catch onto it, but it was quickly thrown out the window when the other man replied:

"_Da~~?_" There was a playful note, and Yao groaned, annoyed by embarrassment.

"W-Well, wh-what are _you_ doing, aru?" He asked; he was _not _pouting!

"I am touching too, da~~"

Yao could've sworn his face lit up like a Chinese lantern.

"-How—How are you touching then…?" Slender fingers wrapping tighter around the heated organ, his breaths were quickening.

"I am…imaging that it is Yao…" There was a soft, heated sigh from the other side; "…Yao's hands are soft…Yao has beautiful hands…beautiful hands that—" A small hitch of breath, "-that are…teasing me…"

Pleasure shot up his spine, and the Chinese man bit back a moan, careful to not alert anyone of what was going on; "…A-And…?"

"…I touch Yao too…I touch Yao too, da~ …Would Yao like that…?"

"Yes; Yes…I would like that aru…" Dark eyes blinking open, he looked down at his hand inside his pants, and imagined it to be Ivan's stronger, bigger one.

At the corner of his eyes, he thought he saw a flicker of a shadowy form on the monitors he was lying in front of, but, though his mind registered that thought, for some reasons it could not come up with a reaction.

…_I should alert Alfred, aru…_

"…How are you touching me…?" He asked instead, eyes clouded with need.

"…I take you into my palms…and gently wrap my fingers…"

The flickering shadowy figure was moving slowly.

"…Yao is sensitive…?"

He took in a sharp gasp; a few strands of dark, long hair stuck to his face where it was moist with sweat.

The figure disappeared from one monitor, and reappeared in another.

…_I should record down the time it appeared…_

"…Yes—Yes, aru…Please…"

"…Yao is very responsive…and hot; it's very hot, Yao…I wonder why it is so hot…Perhaps if I massage it with my hands, it will feel better…?"

"-Ahhh—!" He cried out sharply; the hand in his pants following Ivan's instructions diligently without him even realizing it.

The figure was nearing one of the cameras, appearing larger on the monitors.

…_I should really…alert Alfred…aru…_

"_Ahhh_…it seems that Yao liked that…da…There is something wet; I wonder what it is…_Hmmmm?_"

"You-You know, aru—"

"-I'm curious~~! Da~~! I wonder if it is a good thing…I wonder if more will come out if I…rub the tip with my thumb…?"

A fiery shock of pleasure made his back arch; Yao gasped, lips apart and body convulsing in a spasm. "-Oh God! I-Ivan—"

The figure on the monitors disappeared.

Ivan's breaths were becoming more laboured, though his voice remained even and almost singing: "Is…Is more coming out, Yao…?"

"I-I—…I—" He didn't think it was possible for his face to flush harder; "-Y-Yes—" With a shaky voice, he admitted.

"Oh good…then I will repeat that movement—"

"-N-No—Wait-Wait! —I-I can't—" He couldn't even finish the sentence before a whimper cut in.

"-Yao—"

Suddenly, thudding footsteps sounded from down the hall.

"-Ivan—Ivan—"

"-It is very wet…"

The footsteps were getting closer.

Yao gasped.

"-Da~~ …I think I want to kiss it—"

"-I-Ivan—"

"-WHY DIDN'T YOU WAKE ME?" The door was thrown open with a forceful "bang", and Yao jumped in the air.

"-It's friggin' one in the morning alrea—" Alfred, wearing only his boxers, stood at the door, and startled into realization at what he saw in front of his eyes, which were widening alarmingly quickly; "-dy…"

Yao, hand still in his pants while the other one held the phone at the side of his face, was stunned into complete stillness.

"…Yao?" Ivan spoke, voice strangely unaffected and curious, "Was that Alfred? …Da! It was Alfred! Hi Alfred~~!" He called out enthusiastically.

Alfred could not stop staring at the hand that disappeared behind the waistband of Yao's pajamas pants with saucer eyes.

Yao could not stop staring at the American staring at his hand that disappeared behind the waistband of his pajamas pants with saucer eyes.

"…Yao? Is Alfred gone yet?" Ivan asked, breaking the silence.

Yao was so embarrassed he could only make incoherent gargles of shock.

Alfred blinked, and immediately turned around with a grimace.

"Awww _maaaan_! Why do I always end up in these kinds of situations? …And why is _everyone_ getting it on except for _me_!"

~o0o0o0o0o~

Alfred had been glancing at his phone for the past hour, trying to decide whether to give Arthur a call or not.

_What do I say once he answers?_

_What if he doesn't answer?_

_What if he does answer but hang up on me and when I call again doesn't answer?_

_What if the call doesn't go through?_

_What it does go through?_

_Should I ask him about the time that it didn't go through? Ask him what he was doing?_

_Would that make me sound suspicious of him or something?_

_Maybe I should explain that I'm just worried?_

_What if he laughs at me for being worried?_

…_What if there's already someone else?_

_Oh my God!_

All this thinking was giving him a dizzying headache.

Yao had left in a hurry, apologizing for forgetting about his duties and becoming preoccupied with something else while he was supposed to be watching the monitors. However, in his defense, he mumbled that he was still, in fact, at least keeping an eye on them, and noticed a figure, which walked into the rooms one by one and hovered about before moving on. Alfred didn't ask too much since there was still an air of awkwardness between the two of them; he could hardly look at Yao in the face without being reminded of how the Chinese man's pale, slender hand shifted inside his pants and how his skin gleamed under the little light of the—

"ARGHH! Get a grip of yourself, Alfred!" He quickly shook the thoughts away, embarrassed and ashamed (though what he said hardly made it any easier for him to forget about the most recent embarrassing incident).

Sighing, he flopped down onto the floor.

The ceiling was blank and boring.

"…ARRRGGHHHH!" Frustrated and with nothing better to do, he started thrashing on the floor and throwing a temper tantrum, looking like he was having violent spasms.

After a while, he got bored, and stopped

The ceiling was still blank and boring.

Staring at it, he sighed, and whispered to himself:

"…I wish Arthur were here…"

Shooting up into a sitting position, he grabbed his phone, and dialed the number he knew as well as the backs of his hands.

There was a long pause; he held his breath.

_Please go through please go through please go through…_

Beeeeeep—

_YES!_ Alfred punched in the air, but quickly calmed down and waited anxiously.

Beeeeep—

His heart was thumping loudly inside his chest; his eyes were shiny in the dark room, bright by the light from the monitors.

Beeeeeep—

_Come on Arthur…_

His eyes flickered and looked up at the monitors—

Beeee—click—

-and suddenly saw a large face pressing against the screen and peering from it with wide, white eyes.

"—HOLY SHIT!" He jumped back high in the air, hollering from fright, eyes and mouth wide open, and threw the phone up and backwards as his arms flung out; "WHAT THE FUUUCK!"

Landing painfully on his butt, he grunted, but quickly scrambled onto his feet and ran to the screens, eyes alert and body still shaking a little from being horribly startled.

It was hard to see the details of the face because of how close it was to the camera, but it definitely belonged to a man – a stern-looking man who wore a helmet of some sort. He looked strangely human aside from his eyes, which had no irises or pupils, and appeared to be very curious, staring intently into the camera as if not knowing what it was.

As human as he looked, Alfred knew at once that he was no human.

After a while, the man leaned back from the camera, expression almost wary of it. It was then that Alfred got a good look at his face and clothing before he left the room.

The man was perhaps middle-aged, and quite big with a strong stature. He looked very impressive and intimidating, especially with his fancy, Japanese-styled (Alfred assumed it had to be Japanese since they were in Japan) armour and a long, dangerously glinting sword unsheathed in his hand. From the way he walked, he didn't seem particularly interested in making sure his steps were quiet, but the microphones caught no sounds.

No…this was definitely no human…

_Got our ghostie on film…_Alfred grinned, feeling a sudden rush of excitement, a wide, toothy grin stretching across his face made almost frightening by the dimly-lit room.

Looking across the many screens, he started noticing very small orbs floating about in various rooms but, interestingly enough, as soon as the warrior-man walked into the room, they disappeared, as if going into hiding. Alfred wondered if Yao had taken notice, but decided that, grumbling under his breath, the Chinese man was probably too distracted to notice the orbs, since they were tiny and gave off very little light. It was as if the mere presence of the warrior-man scared them.

How bizarre…

There was a very soft knock on the door, but it still jolted him.

"…Alfred?" It was Matthew; "Is everything alright?"

"Uhhh, yeah, everything's fine." Alfred laughed, a little embarrassed that he actually cried out loud enough to wake people up from their sleep.

"Can Francis and I come in?"

"Yeah, of course!"

The door slid open, and the couple came into view with curious expressions on their faces.

"What happened, eh?" Matthew blinked.

"Oh, well," Alfred waved at the monitors, "I think I just saw our main culprit on TV. He suddenly appeared on one of the screens with a big close-up and kinda gave me a scare. Wasn't expecting that, you know." The American laughed again, this time more sheepishly.

"You saw him? So soon?" The Canadian looked surprised, eyes becoming round. He pushed the door open wider, and walked into the room, taking a seat beside Alfred.

"Yeah," Alfred nodded, "I noticed some orbs floating about too. They're just hovering, but disappear as soon as our main man walks into the room."

Matthew gave a thoughtful hum, looking at the mentioned orbs intently.

The door slid shut behind them, and soft footsteps indicated that Francis had come into the room as well.

The footsteps stopped abruptly, and Francis' voice sounded:

"…Alfred, why is your phone all the way in the corner?"

There was a hanging silence as Alfred's eyes slowly widened as he suddenly remembered his phone call to Arthur.

"…Oh _shit_!" He immediately shot up from his spot and rushed to the phone; "Oh _please_ Arthur still be on the line still be on the line…"

~o0o0o0o0o~

"…What the fuck yourself you stupid son of a moron!" Arthur screamed back into the phone and wished it was a stationary one so he could slam the receiver down angrily to blow off some steam.

Muttering under his breath about American dimwits, he ignored the stares he got from the other patrons of the diner, glaring at his phone as though it could somehow send his contempt to the damned bastard who just called him and said nothing else except for "HOLY SHIT" and "WHAT THE FUCK". Stuffing the phone back into his pocket, he cursed under his breath.

_What the hell did that even mean?_ There was nothing worthy of "holy shit" and "what the fuck" about him; he barely even said "hello" yet before getting an earful scream from the other end.

After calling so many times, that was _all_ the brainless twat American had to say? (It was quite impressive how many missed calls he got when he checked his phone after coming back from the other dimension used for the opening ceremony for the conference, which was outside of "service zones".)

Wishing he could give Alfred a forceful swat on the head, he tried to calm himself down when he saw Feliks walking towards him with his plate of food.

"What was _that_ all about?" The bartender, with a slight quirk of an eyebrow, wore a cute ensemble made up of a pink, frilly dress and a white, ruffled apron. He had a thin braid in his hair tied with a thin, pink (big surprise there) ribbon. There was a little daisy on it, but Arthur wasn't sure if it was part of the ribbon or added on by the Polish cross-dresser.

"…Nothing…" Arthur mumbled and shifted under Feliks' curious gaze.

His plate of fish and chips was placed down in front of him.

"Yeeeeeaaaah…And I, like, totally never wear pink." The tone was dripping with sarcasm as the bartender rolled his sparkly green eyes and flipped his smooth, silky hair with his hand. Arthur noted with mild interest that his eye-shadow was the same shade of green as his lively eyes, and that his lips sported a different colour of lip-gloss than the day before (it was shinier and a little more red-ish).

"Are you like, done gawking at my totally super beautiful-ness? If you want a kiss, you can just ask; you don't have to like, stare at my sexy lips." The sexy lips puckered themselves and made a loud, kissing sound.

Arthur blushed; he didn't know he was staring. He quickly looked down at his food and stabbed one of the fish fillets with his fork.

Feliks giggled; "You're seriously so _cute_!" Leaning on the counter, he reached a hand across it and pinched the British man's on one of his cheeks.

"H-Hey! Stop—Stop that!" Arthur protested and nudged the hand away. Despite of how slender the Polish man was, he still pinched pretty hard.

"_Fine_, grumpy." Feliks pouted and took his hand back; "So like…what's the matter? You've been like, sulking ever since you walked through the door, you know."

Arthur cast the Polish man a look. "…Why should I tell _you_? I've only known you since _yesterday_."

"_Fine_, don't tell me and stay miserable then."

Arthur grumbled under his breath and took a large bite of his fish. Hardly chewing before swallowing, he sighed.

_I can't believe I'm talking about this to someone who's practically a stranger…_

"…As you probably already know, I'm not from around here—"

"_I know_! It sucks like _majorly _bad! It totally makes me _sad_, you know, how we're probably not gonna be able to see each other later on!" Feliks gasped, a hand shooting up to cover his glossy lips as his eyes widened, eyebrows furrowing to sad dismay.

Arthur felt a little annoyed at being interrupted, so he simply continued on, not replying to Feliks' exclaims, though the other man didn't seem to mind, watching him with attentive eyes.

"As I was saying…I'm not from around here, so you can guess that I am here for business, and…well…it's not going too well, I'm afraid…" The British man sighed, lifting up his glass of whisky with a hand and taking a sip, expressions gloomy; "…There is this man…"

"What, you like him or something?"

"Wha—_No!_ He's a disgusting creep who loves to laugh at all my misfortunes!" Arthur, horrified that even such a suggestion could be made, cried out.

"_Jesus_, little pixy sprinkle! What are you getting so worked up for?" Feliks gave a small frown at the sudden raise of voice.

The Brit blushed, muttering an apology.

The bartender shrugged, and waved his hand to prompt his patron to continue.

"Well…That man, he's—he's been doing everything he can to make life difficult for me for years, so you can imagine how we are not exactly on the best of terms; he is very determined to humiliate me in front of all of my closet colleagues by ruining a…" Arthur paused, trying to make up something in place for the ritual, "…a demonstration or—or—" _Damnit, what do non-magic folks do in business conferences?_ "-a—a presentation for a new, innovative idea." He cast a careful glance at Feliks, and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary in the other man's expressions, thought the lie must've been sufficient enough.

"And today, when I was…collecting the last bit of…_data_ for the presentation, he just wouldn't leave me alone!" Arthur took another sip of his whisky, not wanting to remember the most recent events of how he got into another big argument with Thorne and ended up alienating himself from pretty much all of his colleagues. In truth, Thorne hadn't really been bothering him; it was more of the both of them somehow always ending up at the same place at the same time, which pissed him off.

"…Aaaand?" Feliks lifted an eyebrow.

"…And what?" Arthur shifted uncomfortably on his stool.

"…That's it?" The Pole looked unimpressed.

"…M-Maybe…" The Londoner looked away, feeling strangely childish.

His listener sighed. "Well, I think you're just like stressed out about the presentation or something," Feliks stated confidently, hands propping up at his hips.

"…Really?" Arthur looked up, unconvinced.

"Unless there's like, something else, like that phone call you just got? Who was that from? Like your boyfriend or something?"

"…_No…_"

There was an awkward silence where Arthur tried everything he could to appear at ease while avoiding meeting Feliks' scrutinizing stare.

After a while, the bartender leaned back a little and flipped his hair; "…Okay, that was like _so_ your boyfriend that just called you."

"N-No! It was not!" Damnit! Why were his cheeks flaming up?

"Okay, little pixy sprinkle, you're _totally_, like, a _book_, that, like, I can open…and read and stuff." Feliks frowned; "Or something like that…You know, that saying, about a book or something…Well, I don't read a lot of books except for like…fashion and interior décor magazines, but you totally know what I mean anyways."

Arthur couldn't believe he was taking advice from a bartender at a diner and bar he'd only known for a _day_.

"I know you're not gonna do it, but I'm gonna say it anyways – you should totally give him a call back." Someone gave Feliks a wave, asking for a drink; "While I'm away, you should think about it, 'kay? There's like _nothing_ a couple can't talk about." The Pole gave his sulking patron an affectionate pat on the head and sauntered off.

Arthur, eyes following the pink figure, sighed, and wished that things were that simple.

…_Were they not…?_

He didn't know, and, not wanting to think about it, went back to his fish and chips.

Unaware of how engrossed he was to his thoughts, he, once again, missed the soft ring of his phone amongst the general noise of a busy diner.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Matthew had to admit that if he wasn't told that this was the shrine grounds, he honestly wouldn't have known. To say it was overgrown was a great understatement; there wasn't even anything shrine-like anymore amongst the wild grass and generally…forest-like state.

There were also rocks that might've been, once upon a time, something sacred, but now they were just rocks, and being kicked over by Alfred.

"Will you stop that, aru?" Yao frowned, not liking the rocks' treatment.

"I'm just trying to move all of them to one place so Francis can do his thing." The American shrugged.

"I don't need to touch all of them, Alfred," Francis lifted an eyebrow, "And I don't plan to touch the rocks; a piece from the actual shrine is better for our purpose."

Alfred froze in a mid kick; "…You could've told me earlier, man! I've been kicking over these heavy-ass rocks for the past five minutes!"

"We didn't know what you were trying to do, aru." Yao sighed, shaking his head but looking a little amused.

The American grumbled, and followed after Francis, who was approaching a slab of wood on the ground that had faded carvings on it. Matthew quickly jogged forward and stood next to the Frenchman, who had lifted the wood and propped it up against a tree. Yao and Kiku, in a slower pace, gathered around as well, watching closely.

Francis took a deep breath, squatting down so that he faced the wood slab, and gave it a long look. It has frayed, and some parts were half splintered off. It took a little while for him to find a suitable place to put his hand without catching any of the odd ends sticking out. When he finally did, he took off one of his gloves.

"Do you want me to hold that for you?" Matthew offered in a soft, inquiring voice; the Frenchman gave him an appreciative smile, but shook his head.

"_Merci, mon petit_, but it is fine – I can hold onto it."

Looking back at the wood, he raised his hand, and, without further ado, pressed it firmly against its surface.

There was a long moment of silent anticipation.

"…Well? Are you seeing anything?" Alfred, growing impatient, asked. He'd just finished voicing his question when the Frenchman moved.

It was a sharp wince of pain; Francis jolted, biting back a hiss. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes squeezing shut and lips pressed together, but otherwise remained still, hand still pressed against the wood.

"-Francis?" Matthew asked, a little worried.

"…There is resistance, but it's not unexpected," Francis' voice was thoughtful, and low; "I'm not quite familiar with its uses, but it must've been some sort of a sacred artifact.

"It's been fading away, but there is definitely still old magic, very old, and quite strong—_Ack!_" He cried out, and jerked his hand from the wood as if it burned.

"Are you okay?" Matthew quickly squatted down beside the Frenchman, concerned. Just out of curiosity, he reached out a hand and touched the wood as well, though he felt nothing out of the ordinary.

"_Oui, je vais bien._" Francis appeared to be deep in thoughts, hence his slip of French. He tapped his lips with the index finger of his bare hand, and mumbled strings of sentences no one else understood.

"…What are you saying?" Alfred frowned.

"_Un moment, Alfred, s'il te plaît. Permets-moi de penser._" If it weren't for the small "Wait a sec" hand gesture, most of the team probably wouldn't have understood what was being said, since it was murmured and quite fast.

After another long period of silence, Francis stood up, sighed, and brushed his bare hand through his hair.

He turned around, and suddenly noticed the others staring blankly at him.

"Oh…" He blinked, and laughed a little sheepishly, "I apologize; sometimes it slips my mind that I am speaking in my native tongue."

"Yeah yeah yeah we know," Alfred quickly waved it away, "So what's the matter?"

Francis did not look offended by the hasty remark, and answered: "There is a barrier stopping me from looking – something similar to a protective mechanism. I tried to pry, but…it didn't work out that well, I'm afraid." He lifted his hand, and it was only then when the rest of the group noticed a bloody cut running across the span of his palm.

Matthew gasped; "Oh no! Francis!" And reached forward to take the hand into his own for a closer look, but Francis immediately balked and flung it away, startled.

The Canadian jumped a little to a stop in his action, and looked up with wide eyes.

"_Mon chéri, pardonnes-moi_," The Frenchman gave a faltering, sorry smile, and looked like he had troubles meeting his lover's eyes, which were shiny and held a little hurt.

"B-But…didn't you—didn't you, that one time in the car, when I was—you touched my cheek—"

"…Please understand, Matthieu; something like that is extremely difficult for me to do. I can try to train myself, but the last time I managed to achieve it I—…" Francis' eyes flickered away fleetingly as if ashamed. "I'm afraid—I'm afraid I can't…I don't trust myself enough yet." He turned back to face the Canadian, and gave a small smile; "It will take time, _mon amour_."

"Oh…Of-Of course…" The strawberry blonde blushed, a little embarrassed at his hasty impulses, but also curious at what the Frenchman was going to say before he cut himself off.

"Uhh, sorry to interrupt," Alfred didn't really look sorry, "But can we get back to the topic? The wood? Barrier…?"

"Ahhh, yes," Francis turned to Yao, "Would it be possible for you to take the barrier down? If it's an enchantment of some sort, you should be able to counter it, _non_?"

Yao's eyebrows were in a slight frown as he looked down at the wood slab; "I should be able to, aru; I don't have anything with me at the moment, but I can try to just do it."

"Can't we just find something else? Like, maybe, I donno, the rocks I tried so hard to kick into a nice little group for you?" Alfred, hands on his hips, wore a small pout; it seemed that he was still feeling a little sore about doing all that hard work and have it turn out to be worth nothing.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the enchantment was cast over the entire shrine grounds, aru," Yao said, squatting down in front of the wood slab and feeling around its edges with careful fingers; "We might as well just concentrate on this one…" His voice faded away, and his eyebrows frowned deeper.

"…Yao?" Matthew bent down a little, wondering what caused the sudden drop of voice and watching attentively.

The Chinese man wore an expression of utmost concentration, lips pressed tightly together, dark eyes glinting and focused. His fingers tightened around the edge of the wood slab, and suddenly, there was an air of confrontation as unseen energies began to clash against one another. The temperature around the proximity grew colder, and more hostile; there was a low hum around the area, though no one could tell where it was coming from.

Kiku, not quite used to occurrences such as this, looked around with mild alarm, but otherwise stood his ground firmly.

"…Whoever this 'priest' was, he was very powerful, aru…I don't understand what he was doing at a place like this; usually ones like him would stay in a much bigger, and probably more well-known shrine, offering teachings or perhaps working for the nobility…" Yao's voice was soft, but they all heard him clearly.

"Can you break it? The barrier I mean?" Alfred asked.

"It will take some effort, but the spell is old, so yes, I can break it…But…" The concentration on Yao's face hesitated; "I—I'm not sure if it'd be a good idea, aru…"

"What do you mean?" The American pressed on.

"We don't know why he cast such a strong spell to ensure no one can find out what he was doing here, aru…I'm…a little uneasy about what will happen once we break it…"

"Well, we won't go anywhere if we don't find out what he was doing here." Alfred rubbed the back of his head; "We'd just have to take the risk, I guess."

"Alright then," Yao gave a curt nod, and a hard look entered his dark eyes; "You should all stand back a little. There might be fireworks." A small smirk very unlike the Chinese man appeared on his face, and everyone took his advice very seriously, taking a few steps back.

"…He's been hangin' around and talkin' to his Russian for too long, man!" Alfred whispered to Matthew and Francis, eyes round and expression childishly serious.

"Shut up, aru."

Alfred snapped his mouth shut, not wanting to annoy a _Daoshi_ doing powerful magic.

Wind began to pick up around the proximity, and Yao's loose clothing began to float upwards and hover.

It was strange. There were oppositions and conflicts, but there was also an atmosphere of balance. It was almost a cooling sensation, but not cold. The Chinese man's long, dark hair danced in the rising wind at a slow tempo, flowing gracefully. The air seemed to grow lighter around his body.

Matthew was entranced; he was afraid to blink and miss all the details of the scene. Different from the Hedgewood case, when Yao was flinging his horsehair whisk around, this time, instead of a full on confrontation, it was as if he was taking the energies of the original spell and morphing it. It was a hard feeling to describe, but the hostility was dissipating.

No, not quite dissipating; it was all being drawn to the wooden slap, which began to quiver in growing urgency.

There was a stillness that was as if time itself stood motionless, holding its breath.

And suddenly, with an abrupt harshness, Yao tightened his fingers around the edges of the wooden slab, and it exploded into two.

A strong wave of erupting energies burst out; Matthew yelped as it crashed into him, almost knocking him off balance. Alfred visibly took a step back, unprepared; his hair flew around wildly for an instance as if blown by a strong gush of wind. Kiku was the only one smart enough to turn so that he didn't face the wave directly. Francis shielded his face with an arm, eyes squinting a little.

And suddenly, it was gone.

Something was definitely different about the shrine grounds, though Matthew could not quite say what it was. Things didn't feel as if shrouded by a layer of mist so thin that one wouldn't realize it was there until it was gone. The temperature rose to its natural degree, and the Canadian breathed a sigh of relief.

"It should be fine now, aru." Yao stood up as if nothing happened, and turned around with a warm smile.

The rest of the group walked closer; Alfred wore the biggest expression of wonder amongst all of them.

"What exactly did you do?" He asked, amazement clear in his vibrantly sparkling blue eyes; "I thought there were gonna be fireworks." He almost pouted.

"I tried my best to avoid that, aru," Rolling his eyes a little, Yao answered with a small smile: "Instead of facing the barrier directly, I simply worked around it and broke its foundations down by its own strength; it's much less energy-consuming that way." The Chinese man looked quite proud of himself, cheeks tinting pink a little.

"Environment friendly?" the American gave a happy, bright laugh.

"So…Is it okay for Francis to touch it now?" Matthew asked once he stopped beside Yao, still a little apprehensive.

"Yes, aru." He stepped aside, and allowed Francis passage.

The Frenchman, absentmindedly brushing his hair with the tips of his fingers to tame it back into a neat style (it was a little ruffled by the strong wind) took his place in front of the wooden slab, now broken in two, and held out his hand. For a moment he seemed unsure as to which one to touch.

"Either of them should be fine." Yao, seeing the hesitation, explained.

Francis nodded, and reached toward the one on the right.

"-Wait," Matthew cut in, "Shouldn't—Shouldn't you get your cut treated, or…or wrapped up at least? The wood is dirty, eh…? Or…use the other hand perhaps?"

"I don't want both of my hands to be cut in case the same thing happens again; I will be careful to not touch with my palm though," Francis reassured with a warm, loving smile; "_Mais merci beaucoup, mon chéri, pour le souci._"

The strawberry blonde still looked worried, not comforted in the least by the notion that the same thing might happen again, but nodded, scratching the back of his head with a small frown.

Francis' eyes lingered on his little Matthieu's for a moment more, but turned to face the wood, and, placing his hand down onto the one on the right, closed his eyes.

His expression was much more relaxed, head slightly lowered and long strands of silky, soft hair framing his face. After a brief, quiet moment, his lips parted, and he began to speak:

"He was in fact sent by the nobility it seems, to…do a cleansing around the area." He paused; "…The details are…blurry; I see people on the ground, motionless, but they look like shadows. There is a man, wielding a sword, wearing…I'm not very sure what he is wearing, but he looks like…a man from the military from an ancient era."

That caught the team's attention.

"You mean…kinda like the person we saw on the monitors yesterday?" Alfred asked quickly.

"_Oui…_" Francis gave a small nod; "In fact, I think it is the same person."

"But…I thought he only moved about in the mansion, eh?" Matthew asked in a soft voice, head tilted a little to the side.

"_Je ne sais pas…Je—…Je ne peux pas comprendre—_"

"-_English_, man." The American gave a nudge.

"…I—I can't understand what is happening; I can't understand what they are saying either. They tore down the shrine, though the 'priest' doesn't seem bothered by it—"

"Who are '_they_'?" Alfred piped up.

"They came with the 'priest'. I think…they are there to help him—_Wait_…" Francis started to look confused:

"I…I don't know what it happening; everything is becoming dark…" His eyebrows furrowed.

"It's as if…as if someone is placing a veil over my eyes—"

"What do you—"

"—_Mon Dieu!_" He suddenly cried out in fright and jumped back.

The whole group jumped with him.

Francis hastily pulled the glove over his bare hand before brushing both hands through his hair; "That startled me."

"What happened?" Matthew asked, eyes wide and concerned.

"The…The 'priest', he…he saw me."

"What?" Alfred wore an almost exaggerated expression of shock, gaping at the Frenchman as though he'd grown a second head; "How—"

"-I'm not sure; he suddenly appeared right in front of my eyes and gave me a look that was quite…threatening." The long-haired blonde gave a weak laugh entirely humourless.

"I thought…the spell was broken, eh…?" Matthew spoke carefully, not wanting to hurt Yao's feelings; however, the Chinese man didn't look like he minded, and was deep in thoughts.

"The spell is broken for sure, aru…But it must be…there must be something here that he left behind, something that acts as a substitute for himself."

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked everyone's question.

"From what Francis described, something big and extremely dangerous must've happened here, aru," Yao explained, "After a ritual is done to seal away an evil, sometimes the spell caster leaves something behind – a little part of themselves or something representing them, perhaps in the shape of a straw-doll, or a paper seal." When everyone still looked rather confused, he scratched the back of his head with a hum, and picked up a twig from the ground.

"Something you must understand, aru, is that Asian exorcisms work differently than how westerners understand the word. Instead of completely expelling the spirit or demon, which is more often seen in western societies, sometimes, depending on the situation, it is better to banish them or lock them inside an object to avoid many casualties. But to do that, aru, you must take precautions to make sure nobody in the future does something that will allow the spirit or demon to run rampant again." He held up the twig and gave it a small wave, "Pretend that I am the 'priest', and I just finished an exorcism around this area, aru…and I trapped the spirit inside this twig. To keep it trapped inside, I could write a binding spell on a piece of fabric or something similar, and tie it around this twig, before burying it deep in the ground, so it will not be found, aru…"

"Yeah? And?" Alfred nodded, listening intently, and urged the Chinese man to continue.

"And something else I can do is to imbed a part of myself, or a substitute of myself, into this twig, aru, and bury it, so I can always keep an eye on the area."

"Wait, holdon…you mean the priest's spirit is here or something?" Alfred looked surprised.

"Not necessarily; it will just be a manifestation, a…a 'fake' me. It won't be very smart, aru, but I will give it instructions to what to do in different situations, and it will watch everything for me even after I die."

"So…is that what Francis saw?" Matthew asked.

"I believe so, aru; it'd make sense." Yao nodded.

"So…what, we dig up the ground and try to find it?" Alfred didn't look very keen on the idea.

"_No_, aru," Yao rolled his eyes, "It's probably what's keeping the spirit inside the mansion grounds. The reason it is stopping Francis from finding out what happened is probably because it is afraid we will mess things up even more, aru."

"I understand now," Kiku spoke up, eyes widening in realization, "When the renovation was being done to the mansion, the construction team must have accidentally and unknowingly moved or tore down something that released the spirit."

"Yes, aru," Yao smiled, "Now we just have to find out what it is that they did."

"I just hope they remember it," Alfred wore a worried frown, "I mean, they probably threw away a lot of stuff, yeah?"

"It should be something out of the ordinary, aru."

Alfred shared a look with Francis; neither mentioned, from personal experience, how "out-of-the-ordinary" was a very vague description.

"…I guess we are finished at the shrine, eh?" Matthew chirped up, looking around at the group; "We probably shouldn't try to get rid of the…erm…manifestation since it's keeping the spirit inside the mansion…?"

"No, it would not be a good idea." Yao shook his head.

"Oh _great_…we pretty much _still_ have no clues…and no idea how to get rid of the spirit-man." Alfred looked disappointed, and kicked at small rocks on the ground.

"We are getting close, _mon ami_; you are usually much more optimistic." Francis patted Alfred on the shoulder.

"Yeah, well, Arthur isn't helping that optimism…"

The group slowly walked back to the side house, trying to comfort the depressed American mumbling about heartless British men not answering his calls to get at least _some_ of his energetic enthusiasm back.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:** (Please lemme know if there's anything wrong!)

_Oui, je vais bien._ – Yes, I am feeling fine. (I found this on a forum; hopefully the people on there are right. XD)

_Un moment, Alfred, s'il te plaît. Permets-moi de penser._ – One moment, Alfred, please. Allow me to think.

_Mais merci beaucoup, mon chéri, pour le souci._ – But thank you very much, my darling, for worrying.

**Ending Notes: **PHONE-SEX YEEEUUUHHH—!

I was so embarrassed while writing it; seriously man, I couldn't stop snickering and going red. XD

Anyways, I hope that little bit of Ivan/Yao satisfied at least some of y'all's fangirl-ism. Sorry about Alfred barging in; I couldn't resist! I donno why, but I totally see Alfred as one of those ppl that always barge in to awkward moments. LOL

Sorry about my late update, guys…Please forgive me! ;_; I haven't been feeling too well health-wise unfortunately, and spent all of Thursday sleeping. I'm not even kidding man; it was pretty impressive how long I slept for – felt like going into hibernation or something. On Friday I wrapped up the chapter and did a run-through to check for anything I wanna change. This whole Arthur in England and Ivan in Russia thing is kinda giving me a headache with the time zone stuff; I just KNOW it's gonna come bite me in the ass some time in the future…damn…

Oh man, **thank you guys so, SO much for all the kind reviews**! I feel so bad that I haven't been getting back to you, but I plan to go about doing that later on today; I'm so sorry for being so late with replying and everything! ;;_;;

Some of y'all actually made me tear up with your reviews…–hides–

I know I say this like all the time, but it's really the only thing I can do other than writing this story to show everyone how much I appreciate everything you've done for me. So I will say this again: I love you guys so much! –teary eyes–

…Shaddaaaaap I'm feeling sentimental these days so I can be as sappy as I want to! AAAARGH—! –glomps everyone–

Just out of curiosity, would you guys prefer short chapters every week, or long chapters every other week? All this buckets of school work and not-feeling-too-hot-ness are putting a damper on my storytelling (Don't worry though, this story will continue even if it's the end of the world! …Unless the internet dies or something…which will be an even bigger catastrophe!), so I'm just wondering what everyone thinks. : )

Drop me a line! Lemme know! Really appreciate it, guys! :D

Thank you guys so much once again! You know I love you!

BIG MUAHS—! –tackles–

ps: If anyone's having Italics/Bold font problems when posting chapters, try using WordPad. It solved my problem! ...Kinda...I think it still does weird things at odd times sometimes but at least it doesn't put everything in Italics anymore! :D


	26. CASE3: H E, Buildup to Disaster

**Author's Notes: **Please read!

_****IMPORTANT!****_

This chapter is made up of two parts; the first part wraps up the "Investigation" segment (but that does _not_ mean there won't be any more investigating going on afterwards; it just means that things are picking up), and the second part starts to move into heavier stuff.

So basically, the first creepy encounter is starting in this chapter! Hence the title :D

Please enjoy, darlings! MUAHS!

Oh, forgot to say: _there's a new character arrival—!_ I think this will make a certain someone who's been asking about this particular character happy. ; )

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

Matthew, muffling a big yawn, gave a small giggle as Alfred, gulping down his tea, put the cup down with a deep, content sigh and rubbed his stomach.

"Nothing cheers me up more than a good meal!" The American, cheeks nicely flushed and grin bright, said in a cheerful voice.

Francis chuckled a little, putting down his chopsticks. His hand was carefully cleaned and wrapped up with bandages after crushed herbs were applied onto the cut by Yao, who advised him to keep it away from water until the next day.

"Thanks for all the good food you've been providing us, Kiku!" Alfred gave an appreciative wink at the Japanese man, who nodded respectfully and smiled.

"So," The self-appointed hero of the team turned to his team mates, "Should we get goin' on the setup at the mansion? I've been thinkin' to start fast and finish fast so we can look around the area as well, you know, not just inside the mansion. Whatever it was that kept Mr. Ghostie sealed up must be around there somewhere, yeah? Or at least we should _hope_ it's still around there somewhere."

"That sounds good to me, aru," Yao nodded, "It would be great if we could find more clues for this case."

With that, the group got up from their seats. Matthew made to stand, but ended up flopping back down landing on his bum as his balance wavered. Francis, noting the small development, frowned in slight concern. He knelt back down beside the Canadian, who was fighting another yawn and blinking bleary eyes.

"Matthieu?" The Frenchman placed his hands gently on the smaller man's shoulders; "Are you feeling alright?" His voice was soft, and almost a low rumble; the sound calmed Matthew, and made his blinks slower and heavier.

"I…I don't know why but…I'm—I'm suddenly very—…very—I feel like I'm going to—" It was as if he was suddenly covered by a thick blanket of sleepiness; his body felt heavy, and, in a rather abrupt manner, he felt his conscious mind begin to slip.

_Why am I…suddenly so tired…?_

Francis frowned, holding the strawberry blonde against his chest for support as the younger man's eyelids started to droop.

Matthew gave another mumble; he himself didn't even know what he said.

"Maybe Matthieu should get some rest in the side house for today; we can do the set up ourselves, _non_?" Francis, looking up at the rest of the team, asked.

"Yeah, 'course," Even Alfred looked worried, vibrant blue eyes watching Matthew lean into Francis' arms as he couldn't find enough strength to prop himself upright, "Did he not get any sleep last night or somethin'?"

"I am quite sure he slept well enough under the given circumstances; he told me he had a good rest after I left for my watch on the monitors." The Frenchman was as confused as the rest of them; he shifted in his position a little and gave Matthew a kiss on the forehead; "He doesn't have a fever…_c'est étrange_..."

"…I—I'm sorry…I'm okay, really……" The Canadian's mumble made sense this time, though he could barely blink open his eyes anymore. He'd gone completely limp, resting his full weight against Francis' chest.

Francis gave a small smile, ocean blue eyes in affectionate shimmers; he gave his little Matthieu three more kisses, one on his forehead, one on his cute little nose, and another one on his slightly pouted lips. His little Matthieu made a cute little noise, and he chuckled.

"I will take you to bed, _mon chouchou._" Carefully scooping the half-asleep blonde into his arms, he briefly paused in his steps as he passed by Alfred and the others; "I will meet you out front."

"Yup," Alfred nodded before giving Matthew an amused smile and a big ruffle of hair, much to the Canadian's annoyance to which he gave a whine of protest; "Rest up, Mattie!"

"Yeah, sleep well, aru." Matthew couldn't see the Chinese man even if he tried from his angle, but murmured out a "thanks, Yao".

As Francis carried Matthew off to their bedroom to tuck the sleepy man in, Kiku, dark eyes following the two figures, voiced out his concern: "I hope Matthew-san isn't…_tired_ because of the supernatural occurrences…?"

"I donno, but whatever it is, I hope he'd have a nice, long, insightful dream. We could use some help." Alfred said, not seeing the look of confusion the Japanese man gave him.

~o0o0o0o0o~

"Oh wow! …My God! These are…These are all top-notch equipments!" Alfred stood in front of the opened trunk of a van, staring wide-eyed with mouth hanging open at the fancy cameras and other related items encased in boxes. "This is—This is awesome! How-How much—…These must've cost a fortune even for renting!" He looked like he didn't know whether to be stunned or overjoyed, and ended up with a crooked grin of both emotions toppling over one another.

"My father informed me to not withhold on money well-spent, so I did not." Kiku, with a small smile, was glad that what he got was satisfactory, to say the least; "I see you like them, so I suppose they will suffice?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

"_Suffice?_ Are you friggin' kidding me?" The American huffed out a thrilled bark of laughter and ran his fingers through his messy, short blond hair; "I don't even know what that word means!" Giddy excitement practically glowing from his expressions, Alfred hurriedly opened another one of the boxes and gasped most dramatically as another brand-new, shiny camera came into view; it _sparkled_ in his eyes. "Oh my God…—_Can I marry you too?_" He swung around to face the Japanese man, and looked like he could've kissed him.

Kiku took a small step back, catching the intention clear in brilliantly flashing eyes, a little frightened.

Alfred didn't notice the slight apprehensiveness in the glance Kiku gave him, and, instead, turned to Yao and grabbed the Chinese man by the arms.

"Your sister's so lucky, man! You're so lucky too, ending up with such a rich brother-in-law!" He shook the slender form, voice much louder than what was appropriate as he suddenly out of nowhere whined in jealousy: "_Why can't I be related to you?_"

"S-Stop shaking me, aru!" Yao was starting to see stars.

"Oh _man_! I can't wait to set these babies up and see how they work!" As abruptly as he grabbed his victim, he gave a last shake and let go, half-shoving accidentally.

Yao, not even allowed a second to cry out in surprise, fell on his butt onto the ground.

"Al_right_! Let's kick some supernatural ass…with these super kick-ass cameras!" Taking a box into his arms, the giddy American ran off into the mansion, carrying the heavy equipment as though it weighed nothing.

Francis, helping Yao back up onto his feet, cast a worried glance in the direction a certain bouncy blonde went off to; he really hoped Alfred wouldn't trip and end up dropping the box with contents which were probably worth at least an arm and a leg.

"I didn't know Alfred-san likes cameras this much." Kiku blinked slowly, watching the door in which the American disappeared into.

"He doesn't really like them in particular, aru…He just likes expensive, impressive things." Yao looked quite disgruntled at being shoved down to land on his behind, patting spots of dust from the back of his pants and his buttocks.

Francis was going to help, but a dark, threatening look from the Chinese man stopped him.

"…If you grope my butt, aru—"

"-I wasn't going to!" Francis, dismayed that he was so ill-trusted, gasped, hands shooting up to cover his chest as if physically pained, eyebrows furrowing most melodramatically; "You hurt my feelings, _mon ami_!"

Yao only narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"I would _never_—" The Frenchman abruptly paused, blinking, "…Well, I _would_ but…I wasn't thinking about that when I tried to help you!"

"Sure, Francis…" Yao, expression clearly disbelieving, walked around and got a box himself; "We should stop wasting time and start bringing these into the mansion, aru."

Francis, half-pouting, sighed, disappointed that his friend put so little trust in him. As the Chinese man, arms full of expensive equipments, passed by him, however, the pout turned into a mischievous leer.

Yao, steps significantly slower than Alfred's but at a nicer pace, had just thought the little episode was over when a gloved hand slapped him on the butt.

"-ARUUU!"

Francis had just gotten a nice handful of firm but soft flesh when the Asian man jumped in the air (quite impressively high actually) and hollered.

"F-FRANCIS!" Yao, face completely red, shouted out and would've given the now annoyingly pleased Frenchman a side-kick on the head if it weren't for how valuable what he was carrying was; "I—YOU—" He spluttered, rooted to the spot and flushed enough for steam to come out of his ears.

"-_Ahhh_, no time to waste; we should get to work, _oui~~?_" With a wink and a shameless flip of long, shimmering golden hair, Francis, chuckling softly under his breath and very much satisfied, whistled a small, happy tune as he took one of the camera boxes and skipped off towards the entrance to the mansion.

After many soundless moments, Yao snapped out of it, and, stomping after the Frenchman, cried out in embarrassed anger: "-W-Wait till Ivan hears about this, aru!"

Kiku, motioning his household employees with instructions to follow the team, watched the proceedings with great curiosity.

_Is butt-slapping common and appropriate in western culture? How strange…_

Shaking his head clear of wandering thoughts, he picked up a box himself, and followed after the still yelling Chinese man.

As he stepped through the mansion doors, he was surprised to find the team standing there, waiting for him, their boxes on the floor.

"Is something the matter?" He quickly got over his surprise, and asked in an even, inquiring tone.

"Nah, I'm just wondering if we should start off with the second floor instead, work our way down from top to bottom kinda thing," Alfred answered with a bright smile; "Just in case we run out of time, we'd at least finish inspecting the entire mansion; the second floor's the only place we haven't carefully checked out, right?" He motioned at the mouth of the stairs leading up to the second floor with a thumb.

"Of course; whatever you think would be the best is fine with me." Kiku nodded.

"Great! Let's get rollin'!" Flashing a toothy grin and beaming with energy, the American lifted up his box and hopped up the stairs surprisingly effortlessly.

The rest of the group looked at each other and shared amused smiles.

Alfred always made serious business feel like going to an amusement park.

~o0o0o0o0o~

_He had waited for so long, patiently, and expectantly._

_Almost too long…but he did not complain to what God had planned for him._

_The mouth of the well was no longer obstructed, but completely open._

_Bright light splashed in, and he almost wept at how much he had missed it._

_But he did not cry, because he was to be strong, and calm-hearted even facing the most dire of circumstances._

_He rose from the well; he did not quite understand how he did it, but he thought it as God's doing._

_He rose higher, almost to the opening, and reached up his hand._

_His hand met sunlight, and a flash of pain made him retrieve it._

_The sun burnt his skin, and he frowned, before memory suddenly came back to him._

_Oh…of course, it had always been that way._

_He could hear voices and strange sounds._

_His eyes narrowed, hatred making his cold blood boil._

_These men were invading his land!_

…_No need to be hasty; he told himself._

_He could wait._

_It won't be long now…_

_He could wait._

_When the time comes, when the moon rises, when the night spreads across the sky, infesting the colours of day with darkness, he would be free…_

…_be free to end their lives with a swift, practiced swing of his sword._

...

Matthew woke up; it was hard, as it pulling himself out of a large puddle of sticky glue.

He didn't want to wake up; his mind was still screaming for sleep, but he knew he must.

This was the second time he dreamt of that well, so he knew, for certain this time, that it was important, whether an actual body was found inside it or not.

With new, half-guessed but likely information from what Yao had explained back at the shrine, he assumed that the well had significance, since, though the spirit didn't recognize the various loud noises in the background, he did.

It was the sounds of walls being knocked over and repairs being done, with the loud chatter of men in the mixture.

In other words, it was the sounds of a team of construction workers.

The lid…the construction team got rid of the lid…

Matthew sat up, rubbing his groggy eyes.

He must inform his friends and lover at the mansion.

Glancing out the window, he realized, with slight guilt, that it was already near sunset (_I slept for that long…?_), but there was still enough light out to allow him time to get to the mansion, find everyone, and take them to have a quick look at the well.

Anxious to tell the others about the newest piece of information that could very well give them a huge step forward in investigation, the usually patient Canadian scrambled up onto his feet and ran out of the room, almost forgetting to put on a proper pair of pants. Kicking them on along with his given pair of indoor slippers, he nearly tripped as his sense of balance was still a little askew, but caught himself.

The mansion wasn't far, but it would take some time to get to on foot.

Wasting no time, he dashed out through door of the side house, vaguely aware of the household staff calling after him in Japanese, probably asking him where he was going. He didn't answer despite of feeling bad for being disrespectful; it wasn't as if he'd know how to explain himself anyways, being barely bilingual and all (He was getting better at understanding Francis when he drops random French phrases here and there, though that largely had to do with the Frenchman's hand gestures and overall expression).

Running down the road, his breaths started to come in short huffs. It wasn't unexpected since he had just dragged his body out of complete rest to hard cardio in the span of less than a minute. Deciding that the new information was worth the exertion, he brushed aside the pinching ache in his muscles, and pushed on.

Matthew ran quickly in large strides, unaware that he was still wearing slippers.

~o0o0o0o0o~

The team had just finished setting up the equipments in the last room of the mansion. Needless to say, they were tired from running back and forth with heavy boxes, all panting a little and slightly red in the face, some more flushed than others. Alfred once again had a towel around his neck, which he used to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and Francis had his hair tied back.

After close inspection, it was clear that there was nothing out of the ordinary on the second floor. It was much more spacious than they had anticipated, except for Kiku of course, but it looked normal enough. Stairs became a real pain in the ass after what felt like ages of climbing them up and down, and, despite of the season and temperature, the air quickly began to feel a little stifling as no windows were open to allow for a breeze.

In all, the team was glad that the rather repetitive labour was over and done with.

"I guess all that's left t'do for today's headin' back to have a chat with the staff, having dinner, and then an awesome time at the hot springs!" Alfred, suddenly rejuvenated, cheered and looked very pleased with the evening's plans, more so towards the hot springs than others, but food sounded good too. Talking to the staff was a little boring compared to the other plans, since it required taking notes, but it was necessary.

"I can use a nice soak; my muscles are all knotted up and stuff." He rubbed his shoulders and back, which were a little sore.

"You should've been more careful lifting such heavy things, Alfred," Francis said, looking up from plugging various wires into a camera; "I wouldn't be surprised if you develop a nasty pinch tomorrow."

"Nah, heroes are invincible!" The American carelessly brushed it aside.

"Francis is right, aru," Yao frowned, a little worried.

"There is a spa conjoined with the _Onsen_ we will be going to; perhaps we can schedule a massage session for Alfred-san," Kiku suggested; "Perhaps we should all schedule one if you would like?"

"_Ooooh_ a massage sounds _great_!" The younger blonde in the room perked up, eyes sparkling expectantly; "I mean, not that I need it, but I'd love one anyways!"

Francis chuckled and shook his head; turning to Kiku, he gave a small nod: "A massage sounds lovely."

"Agreed, aru!"

Nodding, the Japanese man turned to his staff, and murmured in his native tongue, instructing the men in black suits to make appointments. Just as he finished his requests, the door to the room slid open.

Quick, light footsteps rushed toward him in a flurry, and he only had the time to catch a glimpse of long, silky brown hair adorned with a beautiful, pink-flower hair piece and sparkling eyes before slim arms wrapped around his shoulders and a soft, slender body pressed against his.

"_Kiku! I missed you!_" A melodic voice spoke sweetly in Japanese, and a soft scent of fresh plum blossoms hung in the air around him.

Kiku immediately froze in surprise, eyes widening. A hot blush burned his cheeks as he felt soft breasts press against his chest.

"Hey, who's the hottie?" Alfred's flirtatious voice spoke next, but was cut off.

"—_Meimei!_" Yao interrupted, a gasp of pleasant surprise following his initial recognition.

The young girl, having just noticed the other people around the room, turned around. Her pale cheeks pinked, though almond-shaped eyes rounded as her small, pink lips opened into a small "o".

"…_Gege!_" She said, a pale hand rising to gently cover over her slightly-agape mouth.

It only took a brief second for her expressions to change to that of adoration at seeing someone dear after a long time of being parted. She turned on her feet, flowing sleeves and long skirt swishing around her thin frame as she held her arms apart for an embrace, swiftly approaching the Chinese man, who wore a similar expression but with a bigger smile.

"_I haven't seen you in so long!_" Her speech immediately changed to another language as her eyes, sparkly as if gemstones, gazed into Yao's.

She was barely two paces away from Yao's opened arms, and she held hers higher, a bright, bell-like giggle leaving her lips. Yao, with a happy grin, was ready to scoop her up high into the air like what he used to do when they were younger.

And suddenly, a tall form cut in between them.

The young woman jumped slightly, too late to stop, and landed in the arms of a cheeky American.

"Ooooh I _feel_ the _looooove_!" Pressing the girl's body close to his, it only took one look at the facial expression on Alfred's face for onlookers to know just what exactly it was that he _felt_.

"-G-GET AWAY FROM MY SISTER, ARU!" Yao instantly cried out in protest and began trying to tug the stubborn blonde off, while his sister flushed bright scarlet and spluttered in shock, making soft, squeaking noises.

"-KIKUUUU!" Yao, finding his task difficult when the American decided to be persistent and continued to hold onto his sister tightly, sought for help, "Help me pull him off, aru!" When no reply met his plea for help, he turned.

Taking one look at the Japanese man, he blinked and paused in his actions; "…Kiku?"

Kiku was motionless, as if frozen in time, eyes still wide open and face completely red; one of his eyebrows seemed to jerk unevenly.

Everyone in the room shifted their attention from the brother to the fiancée, wondering what was wrong.

After a moment of silence, Kiku seemed to have finally snapped out of it, and, with a shaky voice, he stuttered:

"…_M-Mei-chan…That was my first time…!_"

~o0o0o~

Matthew, panting, stood in front of the mansion. Looking around with slight confusion, he was surprised to find no one inside the car parked out front, since he thought that at least one staff member would be waiting inside it or at least out and about in the garden, keeping an eye on things.

Shrugging, he quickly went inside.

"…Francis? Alfred?" He called out; "Yao? Kiku?"

Frowning when no one replied, he tried to listen for voices, but only heard silence.

Mumbling under his breath about stupid large houses, he quickly picked the right, and went down the hall to check the rooms for his team mates.

Since the car was still there, it must've meant that they haven't left yet.

~o0o0o~

"_I…I'm sorry I was so forward today, Kiku…It's just that…I haven't seen you in a week and-and…I let my emotions get over my head! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to offend you!_" Mei was let out of Alfred's arms, wincing slightly when she noticed just how flustered her fiancée had become. Instantly switching to Japanese, she thought it'd give the poor man at least some privacy.

It was true; they kept their relationship at a very respectable level, and did not publicly display their affection for each other by physical means. Kiku was very shy in that aspect, but his tender gaze of love and almost timid brushes as he reached to hold her hands when they were alone satisfied the young lady and made her feel butterflies in her stomach. He was a gentleman, and tradition was important to him, which Mei appreciated and respected (so little men these days have manners like her Kiku).

Which explained why the hug, being the first one they had ever shared and in front of an audience, had completely thrown the Japanese man off into embarrassment and God knows what else that was racing inside his head at millions of miles per second.

Kiku himself didn't even know what was racing inside his head at millions of miles per second; all he could think about was Mei's warm, soft body pressed against his, and the way her breaths tickled his skin, giving his spine an electrifying tingle as she nuzzled her head at where his neck met his shoulders.

"…_Kiku…?_" Mei, worried, nudged his arm, and jolted him out of his thoughts, "_Are you—…Are you mad…?_" She shifted on her feet, and looked up at him with worried, guilty eyes.

Kiku swallowed, and fought to recompose himself.

When he was semi-sure his voice wouldn't tremble, he spoke: "_Of course not, Mei-chan. The hug—…it was…nice…_" Another blush quickly stained his cheeks, and he averted his eyes.

Behind them, Alfred snickered; he had no idea what was being said of course, but from the couple's expressions he could at least take a good guess at what was going on.

Francis looked just as amused, but kept it to himself, more polite and understanding of Kiku's feelings. He suddenly jerked a little with a blink, head tilting to the side, a small frown on his face. He could've sworn he just heard his name being called…

"…Did you hear that?" He asked, voice murmured.

"Hear what?" Alfred looked around; "I didn't hear anything."

The Frenchman rolled his eyes (why would anyone _look_ when they're trying to _hear_ something?), but nodded and brushed it off as his imagination. Everyone in the mansion, after all, was standing right in front of him.

Yao didn't catch the small conversation, and looked a little uncomfortable, having understood parts of what was being said between the couple, especially Kiku's "first time" exclaim, but it was understandable, being the older brother and all. He quickly cleared his throat, and tried to change the topic:

"So…_meimei_, what are you doing here, aru?" He spoke in English so that everyone understood; "I thought you weren't coming to visit till later."

"Oh, of course! I haven't explained! But before that," Mei turned to face the team with an apologetic smile, surprising some with her perfect English; "I'm sorry to appear so forward, especially since this is my first time meeting you, my brother's colleagues," At that she gave Alfred and Francis a slight bow, catching both their eyes.

"It's alright," Alfred gave a small, dismissive wave with a toothy grin.

"_Oui, __c'est rien__._" Francis nodded a little, a few strands of loose waves falling from behind his ears, to which he tucked back with a lazy motion accompanied by a warm smile.

"Stop trying to flirt with my sister, aru." Yao gave the Frenchman a dark look.

The taller blonde looked taken back by astonishment, eyes round and innocent; "Whatever do you mean,_ mon cher ami_? What did I do?"

The Chinese man didn't answer, and only grumbled under his breath.

_Stupid Frenchman not even realizing it when he's trying to charm with his stupid hair tucking and his stupid hand gestures and his—_

Though, in truth, the dark look was more due to the fact that he was still feeling sore about the slap on his butt.

…_Ivan hasn't even touched me there, aru!_

But Mei, continuing to answer his question, interrupted his thoughts: "I'm sorry I couldn't personally pick you up from the airport; Kiku said it would be the best for me to not visit too soon since the media was exceptionally curious about your arrivals for some reasons, so I had to wait for them to settle down." Absentmindedly trying to brush back an oddly curly strand of hair, she went on; "There was also something I had to do before I could come visit, but I finished it sooner than I thought, so here I am!" She looked over the group, and her eyes rested on a pair of deep, dark ones.

Warmth had softened Kiku's expressions; he seemed to be finished with being flustered.

"I am glad you came, _Mei-chan_."

The couple gazed into each other's eyes, and shared a shy smile.

"Hey, uhhh, as much as I love loving moments, the sun's kinda going' down now; maybe we should start heading back?" Alfred said, eyeing the fading red and orange splashed across the sky already turning dark through the window.

"Oh! …Y-Yes, of course, we should." Kiku blinked out of the moment, and bit back another blush fighting to heat up his cheeks.

"Why don't you come with me? I can drive us in my car." Mei offered eagerly; "We are going to the side house, right?"

Yao opened his mouth to answer, but was beaten to it by an energetic American: "Yep! That'd be great! Is your car parked out front?"

"Oh no, I came by the side door."

"Right!" Alfred gave a curt nod, and turned to his team, "So, we got everything covered, yeah?"

Yao returned his nod, and Francis confirmed with a "_Oui, je crois._".

"You could've just said 'yes', ya know." Alfred directed a small frown at the Frenchman, who made him feel a little stupid sometimes with his dropped-in French.

"_Mais tu m'as compris, non?_" The older blonde gave a casual shrug; "Besides, if I don't at least speak _some français_ on occasions when you can actually understand, I won't be able to say anything at all!"

Engaged in a rather pointless bicker with an American who was probably just bored and needed to say _something_, Francis followed the group out of the mansion grounds by the side door.

Kiku addressed his staff members to lock up the gates and head back to the side house after. He walked towards Mei's car after he was finished, where everyone was waiting, as the sun sank lower and lower behind the horizon.

None of them was aware that they had completely missed another member of their team still anxiously searching for them inside the haunted building.

.

..

...

......

...

..

.

Matthew was frightened.

No, he was _terrified_.

It was quiet, too quiet, but that was not made him afraid the most.

The sun had gone down.

He hadn't realized through his anxious searching until suddenly, he noticed with a start, that the clouds were no longer aflame with red and orange as they were during dusk.

There were still a little light out, but it was quickly being devoured by the almost abrupt arrival of night.

Matthew stood in the middle of a hallway; he no longer knew where he was, getting lost in the almost maze-like mansion. He was completely still, eyes bright and shiny, flickering back and forth in front of him, though unseeing.

He was desperately trying to listen for sounds – _any_ sounds other than his own hushed breathing and loud heartbeats inside his ribcage.

…_I should get out…yeah…I should get out…_

He was almost too scared to move his feet as if it'd break whatever spell enveloping the massive house with suffocating silence.

But any silence was better than meeting a vengeful spirit armed with a sword.

There were no birds chirping and calling to each other in the distance, no soft ruffling sounds of leaves as wind blew.

Everything was completely, deathly _still_.

Matthew swallowed; his throat was dry.

…_Alright Matthew…Seriously, you should get out of here, eh…?_

He took a small step back, and nearly jumped out of his skin when the wood groaned under his foot.

…_CreeeeeeEEEEEEEeeeeeeeak……_

He gasped, but his hands immediately muffled it.

…That was not the sound from the floor under his foot.

His body began to tremble; his legs were shaking badly.

…_F-Francis…Francis…_

He almost whimpered out, wishing nothing more than to be in the Frenchman's arms, safe and warm.

…_Ok Matthew…calm down…The temperature is cooling rapidly, and this is a wooden house…_

…_Yeah, that's it…it was just the wood…_

He took another step back, the wood groaned again.

…_Creeeeeeeaak…_

_-thud…_

He instantly froze, eyes unblinking and wide.

…_Creeeeeeeaaak…_

_-thud…_

Breaths hitched in his throat.

…_Creeeeeeeeeaaaaak…thud…_

It was getting closer…

…_Creeeeeeeeeeeeaaaak…thud…_

…Closer—

…_Creeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaak…thud…_

Where—Where was it—

…CreeeeeEEEEEEEeeaaaaaak…

-Where—!

_--THUD!_

Suddenly, a face appeared right in front of his; he couldn't even gasp in terror.

A man was dangling upside down from the ceiling, peering at him with white eyes pupil-less.

He stared right back into them, mouth hanging open behind sweaty palms as a silent gasp died in his throat.

Seconds ticked by soundlessly.

Matthew swung around on his feet and bolted.

Running down the hall at neck-breaking speed, he couldn't even scream though fear was almost bursting out of his chest. His breaths were loud, echoing in the long, empty hall, huffed and laboured. His footsteps were louder; they were so fast that he felt as though his feet barely touched the floor as air whooshed past his ears.

Adrenaline rushed through his blood vessels. His heartbeats thundered from inside his chest.

…_Faster, faster, faster, FASTER!_

He crashed into the wall as he reached the end of the hall. Only bracing himself as he shot out his arms and pushed with his palms, he diverted the momentum to turn on his feet, never stopping in his mad dash towards safety.

…_Oh God…Oh God!_

He didn't know if it was his imagination, but he could feel cold breaths at the back of his neck.

The door suddenly came into view; he gasped.

He was almost there!

Jumping out of the main entrance to the mansion and pretty much stumbling down the stairs, he rushed towards the front gates—

-And they were locked.

"…No…"

He shook his head slowly and shakily, disbelieving eyes wide and bright.

"…Come on…This isn't funny, eh…?"

He tried again.

"…No…"

Again.

"…No…!"

Again!

"No…! Don't do this to me!"

He pulled at the knobs, body in violent spasms as he yanked at the stubborn thing, but it would not budge.

"…No!"

He pushed, trying to force the doors open with all his might, but they did not give in.

"—No!"

Hysteria seized him.

"…NO! NO!"

He slammed his fists down against the gates, screams broken and frantic. Tears swelled in his eyes in an instance and fell down his cheeks in torrents.

He was going to die.

"NO! NO! HELP! HELP!"

Panic almost made him sick, but he was too terrified to find time to recognize it.

"-FRANCIS! _FRANCIS!_" His screams were louder, raw and piercing; he begged – _begged_ that if he called out loud enough the Frenchman would suddenly appear out of thin air and save him.

But all that greeted him was silence, dead silence.

"…No…No…!" Matthew whimpered, and collapsed, legs shaking too violently to be able to support his weight. He was crying in hopes that the sound traveled far enough to catch the attention of any passer-bys or anyone who was close around the area (though that was very unlikely), but mostly out of blinding fear that twisted his guts into a tight, nauseating knot.

His sobs gave away his location, but that did not matter, because the spirit of the warrior man was going to find him either way.

Huddling closer to the gates, he pressed himself against the wood, hoping that it'd protect him from being brutally slaughtered.

"…N-No…No…! I…I don't want to die…!"

A shrill sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath pierced into his ears.

Eyes flying open, he almost choked on his gasp, tears shinning on his cheeks, catching the light reflected off from the deadly, glinting sword.

The man was tall, but what made him even more frightening was the way he carried himself, proud, fearless, and cold-blooded.

He stood at the entrance to the mansion as if protecting it, eyes staring straight into Matthew's, who was a trembling mess on the ground trying to make himself disappear by scooting as close to the gates as he could.

For painfully still moments, they only watched each other.

Matthew, hands clenching into fists, felt the corners of his eyes begin to prickle, and he blinked.

In a flash, the figure shot forward at inhuman speed, and raised his sword.

There was an ear-splitting sound as it cut through air itself, and it was swung down.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

_Meimei_ – Younger sister

_Gege_ – Older brother

_Oui, __c'est rien__._ – Yes, it's nothing.

_Oui, je crois._ – Yes, I believe.

_Mais tu m'as compris, non?_ – But you understood me, no?

Many thanks to _Steph_ for corrections! :D

**Ending Notes:** Oh c'mon, y'all love cliff-hangers! :D –hides behind a rock to dodge tomatoes thrown– _…__Buono tomato, buono tomato…_–hearts–

Anyways, I'm sorry for the wait, everyone! I got sick again (Horray…), and this time it was exceptionally stupid 'cause I couldn't look at any electronic screens for too long…like I can't watch TV or go on the computer for more than 5 minutes 'cause it makes me feel like throwing up, and that ain't pretty, man.

So I had to write everything down in a notebook. I felt so accomplished afterwards. LOL

Hope you liked the creepy parts (Poor Mattie though)! Next chapter is going to be a helluva rollercoaster to write! I can't wait! 8D

I have no idea if there are such things as spas conjoint with those hot spring places in Japan; I just put that in there 'cause I didn't know if those hot spring places offered massages, and just in case they don't I added the spa part in there. XD Just pretend they exist if they don't! ;_;

Oh! Yes! About replies to reviews:

I'm so sorry I haven't been replying! D: **I AM, however, slowly getting through them** (it'll just take some time, but I will definitely eventually get back to all of you awesome sweethearts), but please know that I did read all of them, and they touched me so much! …Not inappropriately, but y'all know what I mean. –thumbs up– You'd be surprised at how much all of your words encouraged me as I was sniffling and pathetic lying in bed all day, so I really can't thank you enough! ;_;

The next update will probably be in two weeks time; I'm trying to keep to Thursdays 'cause I like Thursdays. =p I read through all of your advice (Thanks so much by the way! I love getting to know what everyone thinks!), and decided on longer chapters every other week 'cause I think it'll work with the plot better. Sorry about the longer wait! But I'll try my best to make the waiting worthwhile! Promise!

Before I go, here's a little teaser! I was scribbling down ideas when this one came to me; I'm not sure how to fit it in yet, but I kinda like it, so it'll be making an appearance. Please enjoy! This'll give you some hints as to what's gonna happen next. ; )

~o0o0o0o0o~

**Short Teaser:**

"-MATTIE!" He heard Alfred's voice seconds before the back of his head crashed into the wall he was thrown into.

But that was the least of his worries.

His neck was getting crushed under the iron-grip; he could feel the cartilage of his windpipe crinkling as it was starting to collapse in on itself.

Clawing at the hand and legs kicking feebly under him, tears appeared in his eyes as the pressure grew unbearable. Black spots started to appear in his vision, and he was almost glad, as it partially blocked the sight of Francis' frighteningly stoic face and glare of piercing hatred bearing into his eyes.

"-F-Francis—" He choked out, but it was almost immediately cut off as the hand tightened even more.

Tears fell.

_-Francis—Francis—No—!_

"-What the hell Francis!" There was a sharp cry of pain from Alfred, but, as much as he wanted to know what had happened to his friend, Matthew couldn't turn his eyes away from his lover's ocean blue eyes, so familiar yet so foreign with hostility.

It shook his core, and fear quickly escalated into something excruciating.

_-Francis—…h-help—help…!_

~o0o0o0o0o~

Oh no! What the hell's Francis doing? :O

Well, you will find out in two weeks' time, m'dears! –wink wink; gives super squishy hugs and big smooches–

I LOVE YOU ALL—! MUAHS—!


	27. CASE3: H E, FEAR

**Author's Notes: **Please enjoy! :D Sometimes I wonder why I even have this thing here…

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

Francis, looking confused and a little worried, opened the door to the dining room.

The murmuring inside discussing whether to crowd all the monitors into one room or spread them out into two paused

"Is Mattie still sleeping?" Alfred, popping pieces of an orange into his mouth, asked.

"_Non…Il n'est pas dans notre pièce…_" Standing at the door, the long-haired blonde shook his head slowly, voice mumbled and eyes glazed over in thought.

Swallowing down a mouthful of oranges, Alfred gave a small bark: "Speak English, man."

It seemed to startle the Frenchman, who jolted a little, and stared.

After a silent moment, he blinked; "Oh, I'm sorry…Matthieu—Matthieu isn't in our room."

That caused an almost unified frown of confusion to fall over the rest of the group, except for Mei, who didn't quite know what was going on.

"Did you check the bathroom?" Alfred asked, putting down what was left of his orange.

"_Oui, j'ai v_—I checked-I checked it, and tried to call him, but his phone was under the bed covers." Francis remained standing as if he didn't know what to do. He didn't quite understand why he felt such a heavy sense of dread, since it was a little too soon to assume something bad had happened, but he couldn't shake the feeling off.

"Calm down for a sec," The American wiped his hands on his pants and stood up; "He could be outside taking a walk or something. Let's look around the house first, alright?"

Nodding, Francis brushed his hands through his hair, and sighed.

_That's right, Francis…calm yourself…This isn't like you…_

The rest of the team got up as well, and, after a few words of discussion, decided to split into two groups and go their separate ways to quicken the search.

A few minutes later, they met up back in front of the dining room.

"Mei-chan and I didn't find Matthew-san." Kiku looked down, apologetic.

"Where could he be, aru?" Yao bit his lips, dark eyes fleeting from one person to another.

"Maybe he really did go out for a walk…?" Alfred tried to answer, though he sounded just about as skeptical as his peers.

"Matthieu wouldn't leave and not say a word to let us know about it," Francis looked away, expression taut, ocean blue eyes flashing with suppressed anxiety.

"Should we ask the household staff? Maybe they saw him, aru." Yao turned to Kiku, who nodded quickly and excused himself to find one to ask.

Facing a number of troubled faces, Mei took a small step forward and tried to offer comfort in a soft, soothing voice: "Let's not assume the worst. We should wait and see what Kiku finds out first. Should we go into the dining room and have a seat while we wait?"

When none of the men moved, she gave a small sigh, not knowing what else to say to ease the tense atmosphere.

After what felt like an eternity, Kiku was seen running down the hall towards them.

"Some of the staff said they saw Matthew-san run out of the house a while ago. They tried to ask him where he was going, but he didn't look like he heard, and took off without a word." He stopped beside the group, alarm swimming inside his dark eyes; "They said he went in the direction of the mansion."

There was an awful silence of dismay, and, horrified, Francis spun on his heels and ran.

"Wait—Where're you going?" Alfred called out, confused since the Frenchman wasn't running towards the direction of the front door.

Without answering, the older male flung open the door to the monitoring room, and the team immediately understood.

They rushed to follow, and entered after Francis, who knelt down in front of the bright screens and looked through them with wide eyes.

"Alfred, how long will it take to set up the rest of the monitors?" He asked, voice low but urgent.

"We still haven't even brought them in yet, man. It'd probably take—" The American winced as the figure kneeling on the floor suddenly shot up and, barely sparing a second to catch his balance, swung around and ran out the door.

"-Wait! Francis!" Yao sprinted out after him, halting in the hall and shouting out; "We can't be sure he's inside, aru! We didn't see him in the mansion when we were there—"

The Frenchman didn't heed his words, and disappeared around the corner.

"_Damnit!_" Alfred cursed, pushing the Chinese man aside and running after the older blonde. "Yao! Set up the monitors! Kiku! You're comin' with me! Be sure to bring the keys to the mansion!" He called out as he disappeared around the corner as well.

"-Don't barge into the situation without accessing it first, aru!" Yao cried out, but was already on his way to start bringing the monitors in; "…Nobody ever listens to me, aru!" He mumbled grudgingly, but his eyes were burdened with worry.

"Mei-chan, please gather the staff and help your brother." Kiku addressed his fiancée.

Mei nodded quickly, still confused but also nervous.

Eyes locking with hers for a brief second, the Japanese man gave a small, encouraging smile before hurrying after the blondes.

Francis swore under his breath, strings of French sounding elegant despite of their meanings, and kicked on his shoes. Running at top speed towards the mansion, dread compounded as he noticed that the sky was almost completely dark.

Of course he knew his little Matthieu was inside the damned mansion; the Canadian was already there, _calling his name_ when they were finishing up with the equipments.

That was what he heard!

_Stupid-Stupid—STUPID!_

He wanted to slap himself.

He was vaguely aware of Alfred calling after him to "wait up" and two pairs of footsteps following behind him, but all his attention was focused on getting to the mansion and finding his little Matthieu.

_Please be safe…Please be safe!_

He pleaded to whatever deities that were willing to listen, and hoped that they were not too late.

~o0o0o0o0o~

The sword swung down, and Matthew, surprising himself with his quick reflexes, ducked to the side and heard it slam down into the wood, lodging into it.

Not wasting a single moment to look back, he pushed himself up onto his feet and ran further down into the garden.

He didn't know what he was doing or where he was going, senses heightened by fear and all logic thrown out the window for baser instincts. He kicked off his slippers (_Why the hell am I wearing these?_) and went barefoot, ignoring how little rocks bit into his skin, favouring this much more than half-assed running with stupid slippers.

After a while of fast steps, he skidded to a stop, panting and muscles aching, though that was not the reason for his halt.

The spirit was not chasing him.

Looking around with alert eyes, he cursed in annoyance as tear drops on his glasses impaired his sight, and took them off, hurriedly wiping them dry with his shirt. Quickly putting them back on, he spun around in all directions, trying to listen for any sounds and making sure to check all the dark corners.

He knew from experience—well, watching horror movies, that in these instances, the moment he lets his guard down, the ghost was probably going to suddenly come out of nowhere and scare him shitless.

_I'm not going to let you have that satisfaction!_ He thought, and as soon as that thought trailed away, a swooshing sound of sword cutting through air snapped him out of it.

Yelping, he fell forward, missing the blade by mere millimeters, and landed on his elbows and knees. Biting back a groan of pain, he felt his skin, through fabrics of his clothes, scrap against the ground, but did not allow himself a moment to assess his injuries. Pushing back up onto his feet, he snapped his head back, expecting to see the menacing figure of the spirit, but, to his great surprise, saw none.

He immediately knew, also from watching horror movies, that this meant the spirit was most likely behind him. He immediately spun around again, but, to his greater surprise, actually saw nothing.

Horribly confused, he no longer knew where to turn and run to, and, suddenly feeling extremely distraught and panicked, felt tears of frustration and anxiety rise up once more.

Blinking his eyes, he forced them away.

_Stop it Matthew…it won't do you any good to cry, eh? …Calm down…maybe you can—_

-The wall!

Matthew gasped, a spark of sudden hope flashing in his bright eyes.

Of course! He could climb over the wall if going through the gates was out of the question!

But the wall looked a little high…

He went over to it until he was standing at its foot, and pressed his hands on its hard surface.

It was about twice his height, maybe a little less, but still looming over him a great deal.

He jumped; his hand could not reach the tiled top.

Sighing, he decided not to bring it onto himself to try to leap and grab a hold of it, since the tiles looked sharp and difficult to hold onto. But it wasn't impossible to get over the wall if he could just find something to step on…

Looking around, he spotted a pile of rocks carefully placed as decoration for the garden, and ran over to them.

They were heavy, but he managed to push (more like roll) one over.

Stepping on top of it, he reached up his hands, and, to his frustration, still could not touch the top of the wall.

He needed perhaps two more to stack up before he could climb over.

Heading to the pile again, he found another one suitable for his purpose, and shoved it over to sit snuggly beside the first rock.

Returning to find the third, he'd only nudged it away to the side when he suddenly noticed something strange.

At the bottom of the pile, there was a large stone slab. Upon closer inspection, it was clearly too round and smooth for it to be of only nature's making.

Leaning down and squinting, he noticed little details and carvings. Tracing them with his fingers, his eyes followed until they found a knob-like structure connected to it.

The knob-like structure was pretty large, and strange. There were circular shapes on its sides and a small opening at the front as if—

-_Oh my God!_

Matthew gasped, recognition flashing inside his head.

He immediately started pushing the other rocks on top of the big stone slab off, not caring about how loud he was being as they fell to the ground with a heavy "thud". After many moments of shoving and heaving, he stood a little further away, panting, with a big smile on his face.

It was a turtle!

He could see it quite clearly now, with the initial knob he found as the head, four short limbs sticking out, and a small tail. The carvings on the stone turtle were mostly gone, weathered away by time, but he could still make out the shapes on the shell, and characters he could not read etched into it.

It was just the right size to cover a certain well.

Excited at the find, he quickly sprinted forward to take another rock so that he could get over the wall, find his team, and tell them of this new development.

They'd sure be surprised and ecstatic that—

Matthew suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

Something was off…

He hadn't been attacked for…what…five minutes now since the last time?

With the way the spirit was chasing after him wasting no time to attempt to cut him into pieces, he didn't understand why it hadn't come out to try again.

Shaking his head and deciding that he shouldn't test his luck any further, he plopped the rock down on top of the first two, and stepped up onto it.

He could_ just_ reach enough.

Breaking into a happy grin, he rose up on tiptoes, and his fingers had just brushed the top of the wall when a sudden, extremely loud shriek _almost_ made him lose his footing and fall back to the ground.

"-FUUUUUCK!"

_--Alfred!_

~o0o0o0o0o~

Alfred swore under his breath as Francis, without a word, took off as soon as the gates were unblocked and ran into the mansion. He tried to follow, but the Frenchman had a fast head start, and, by the time he went inside the mansion, the other blonde was nowhere to be seen.

"Where did Francis-san go?" Kiku asked in a soft voice, looking around.

"I don't know, man…this is gettin' out of hand, _fast_." Brushing a hand back through unruly locks, the American pointed to the right; "Alright, you go that way; I'll go this way. We'll meet back here in ten."

With a curt nod, the Japanese man, in quick steps, left for the right hall.

Not wasting any time, Alfred took the opposite direction.

He anticipated loud calls or stomping footsteps, but, surprisingly, heard nothing of the sort, which annoyed him since he couldn't use them to determine where his uncharacteristically rash friend went. Tearing open doors room by room, he was causing quite a ruckus, though that was the last of his worries. A few minutes later, after his hotheaded rush had gone away, he suddenly noticed just how quiet the mansion was.

"…The hell…?"

It was too quiet. There were at least three people inside, with a very likely four somewhere, and they were all on a search. The silence was as if an undisturbed body of water, frighteningly still and eerie.

"Come on, Alfred, you're the _hero_!" He told himself, throwing open another sliding door and stepping into an empty room; "Heroes don't get scared! …And heroes _always_ find what they're looking for!"

After a whole row of rooms was checked, he started to grow impatient. Anxiety gnawed at him.

_Oh to hell with this…_

"Francis?" He called out, hands cupped around his mouth; "Mattie?"

His voice didn't even echo.

"What the…" He frowned, but put it aside for more important matters at hand.

He was on the fourth room down the hall around the corner when the monitors were all connected and turned on in the side house.

Immediately Yao and Mei took sight of the three.

Francis was on the second floor, moving quickly and barely pausing in search. Kiku was the same, but slightly slower in pace and looking more carefully; he had gotten a katana from somewhere (Yao vaguely remembered seeing a few of them propped up in one of the biggest rooms of the mansion when they were doing set-up) and wielded it as if anticipating battle, clenching the handle with his fingers. Alfred, to the Chinese man's great exasperation, was making quite a scene, as usual, calling his friends' names and practically stomping through the hall.

_At least he isn't screaming his head off…_

Yao sighed, and started to sweep his eyes over the sea of bright screens, trying to spot a fourth figure perhaps huddled somewhere hard to see.

Mei, sitting beside him, suddenly gasped sharply and pointed at a screen to the far left:

"_Gege! Look!_"

Yao immediately followed her eyes, and took in a similar gasp to hers.

There was indeed a fourth figure, but it wasn't what they were hoping to find.

It was tall, and dark, walking too smoothly for it to be human towards the direction of where Alfred was, as if traveling on air. It wore ancient armour partly covered with dried blood and dust messily smeared on, and held a dangerously glinting sword sharp enough to appear as though it were invincible.

Yao winced; it probably _was_ invincible if words from the employees at the party on the night when the spirit first appeared were true.

Mei suddenly grabbed onto his arm, voice urgent, startling him; "_Gege! Alfred is in danger! Look! Look!_" A few screens away, Alfred was seen poking his head into another room as the dark form turned the corner and faced the hallway where the American was.

The figure was visible on numerous screens by then: the ones in the rooms with doors open that it was passing, and the one overlooking the hallway.

It was nearing Alfred.

With rising alarm, Yao pulled out his phone so quickly that he almost dropped it, speed-dialing to alert the still oblivious blonde.

Alfred had just leaned out of the room he was poking his head into when his phone suddenly rang, abnormally loud and effectively scaring the crap out of him. He jumped and swore, before pulling the ringing device out of his pocket and snapping it open.

"What!" He said, irritated, as he headed for the next room.

"-Alfred!" Yao's voice called through, but the static was making it hard to hear him.

"Yao?" Alfred frowned, giving his phone a few smacks before putting it against his ear once more; "Hello?" _What the hell's wrong with the damned thing?_

"-Alfred—Al—out-look—t—be—you-behin—behind—h-hall—b-hn-d—be—" It was suddenly cut off.

"…Hello?" Alfred, frowning, ended the call and dialed Yao's number.

He put it up by his ear and waited for the dialing tone.

A distance away in the side house, Yao swore loudly in his native tongue and threw his phone down.

"_-G-Gege?_" Mei looked abnormally pale; fear swam in her eyes.

"_The reception's dead, aru!_" Yao explained, "_Stay here and watch the screens! I'm going to find them!_"

"_W-Wait—!_"

Yao was out of the room in a split second and reappeared at the doorway in five, hastily unraveling an oddly-shaped bundle. In mere moments, an elaborate, ornate sword was taken out, still sheathed, followed by a white, jade-handled horsehair whisk.

"_I should've gone with them right away, aru! They can't actually defend themselves!_" The Chinese man looked like he was blaming himself quite strongly for overlooking such an important factor, and, without sparing another word to his _meimei_, he took off, dark hair flying back most dramatically and steps quick and light, almost as if stepping on air.

The ones at the mansion, after all, did not have abilities to protect themselves from supernatural attacks.

Alfred looked down at the phone in his hand, which completely died on him.

It wouldn't even turn on anymore!

Attention fully focused on confusion, he did not notice the dark figure silently gaining up on him from behind at an alarming speed, sword flinging upwards into the air and aimed at his head.

The American opened the door to the room in front of him, eyes still on his phone, and the sword fell.

"-FUUUUUCK!"

Alfred, falling into the room, cried out, pain erupting as the sword slashed across his arm, mercilessly cutting into much softer flesh. Blood immediately gushed out of the nasty gash running along the length of his limb, yet relief crashed over him that that had been the only damage.

If he had turned and stepped into the room a second later, he'd be worrying over his lack of a head or a missing limb instead of a brutal cut on his arm.

Clutching the wound with his other hand, he bit back a scream of immense agony, and forced himself onto his feet.

He barely had time to turn around and see properly who it was that attacked him before the sword fell again, and, shouting out in surprise, he jumped to the side, too quickly and forcefully for a proper landing, and smashed into the wall on his back.

Grunting, he opened an eye, and the other one immediately followed as the sword was hot on his trail, swinging down at top speed towards his head.

"OH SHI—" He leapt forward and, doing quite an impressively fast summersault, escaped by mere hairs from getting another injury. Hopping back up on his feet, he dashed out of the room.

He finally had the chance to turn around and fully see the one who attacked him, instantly recognizing the tall, dark form with pupil-less eyes from that night when he was watching the monitors.

He only managed to get a glimpse before the spirit came after him with the sword aimed to kill.

It slashed down to his right.

Eyes keen and reflexes quick, Alfred turned to the left, body shaken as the blade whooshed down right in front of his face, barely breaths away. But he had no time to get himself together as the metal flashed in the dark and was plunged straight towards his chest.

Without any time to think, he did the only thing he could, and bent backwards. His spine made a cracking sound, and he groaned with a grimace.

"_Oooohh!_ …Man I could _really_ use that massage…"

Speaking turned out to be not a very smart idea as the form turned on its feet and slammed an elbow down into his gut. His legs instantly crumbled beneath him as bile hit the back of his throat from the hard impact.

Doubling over on the ground, he retched, gagging sounds loud and disgusting even to his own ears as the smell of stomach acid burnt his nose. His eyes teared up; his glasses were crooked, but, tilting his face up, he could still see the tall form, standing over him in silence, completely unfazed and focused.

It loomed over him, tall, and reeking of death.

It wasn't often Alfred, the hero, was scared, but in that instance, cold fear twisted deep inside his core and stretched out with icy claws, clenching his heart.

With a practiced swing of the sword, the warrior lifted up his arms.

_Oh fuck—_

The sword sliced down; he could almost _feel_ it biting into his neck, cruel and unforgiving.

_-This is it…_

Cold air stirred by the blade hit his skin, and he closed his eyes.

In a flash of a second, a face with bright green eyes and bushy eyebrows appeared behind his eyelids; the face smiled at him, cheeks flushed and affection sparkling in the clear orbs gazing fondly into his.

Hot tears prickled.

_-Arthur…_

~o0o0o~

There was a loud clatter of cups dropping onto plates. Hot tea spilled all over the table, some falling onto his pants.

But he was completely unaware of its burn as his eyes stared forward, expression that of horrification, cold sweat breaking all over his body.

His hands, no, his entire frame shook violently.

The witch, one of the few who still spoke to him, was looking at him in alarm, pausing in mid-sentence about a new potion she learnt, fork still half-raised as she was going to place a small piece of chicken into her mouth.

"…Mr. Kirkland?" She asked tentatively, but he did not hear her.

_What is it…What is this feeling…_

Fear, dread, as if cold, callous fingers, gripped his heart, and he almost could not breathe.

"…Arthur?" The witch leaned forward a little, and placed a hand on his.

He jumped, startling the both of them.

"I—…" He quickly blinked, and got up shakily in haste, "-I—Please, please excuse me, Ms. Barclay. I-I have—have something—or another—…I-I'm—I'm sorry…" He hurried out of the large room, feeling like he was going to be sick, and pretended to not notice how quiet the restaurant had become or how all eyes bore into his back.

Something bad was happening, or had already happened; he knew.

He was having the same feeling as on the day when his aunt and uncle—when Matthew—

Shuddering, he almost fell, but someone, yelping in surprise, caught him.

He looked up; to his great disgust, it was no other than Andreas Thorne, who was no doubt on his way to the restaurant to find his all-time favourite victim to torture.

For some reasons, the insufferable redhead wore quite a genuinely concerned and shocked expression.

Frowning, Arthur spluttered and tried to pull himself away; "-Why are you looking at me like—"

Suddenly, he knew.

Tears were falling from his eyes.

_-What in the bloody hell—?_

He couldn't believe it, every bit as shocked as slimy Andreas. He tried to wipe them away, but they kept falling from his eyes without reason.

Cursing under his breath, distressed and mind racing with thoughts, it was then he decided that he _really_ hated being at the conference without company, how weak his legs were, and the unbearably sincere look of worry the bastard was giving him.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He punched Andreas in the face.

~o0o0o~

A gush of wind caused by the incoming slash by the sword hit the skin on his neck, and he braced his death.

Thudding steps suddenly came loudly into earshot, followed by an outcry.

There was a loud clash of metal against metal, and Alfred's eyes flew open.

Millimeters from his face were two blades, one aimed for his throat, the other stopping it.

He craned his neck backwards, and saw Kiku, holding a similar sword with a strong stance, saving his neck from being cut into two with eyes sharply glittering and expression in a tight scowl, teeth biting.

Time froze for long moments as the spirit and Kiku stared at each other.

Suddenly, another cry wrenching from pale lips, the Japanese man shoved with all his might and pushed the spirit back several steps. He quickly swung his sword forth into a defensive posture, and stood over the fallen form of the American, shielding him from future attacks.

"…Kiku—" Alfred tried to get up, but groaned; his stomach felt like it had been run over by a truck. He was sure a big, nasty bruise was developing nicely as seconds ticked by.

"Hurry, Alfred-san," Kiku spoke in whispers, but his words were crystal clear due to the silence; "Get out of here, quickly!"

"I-I can't move—"

"-Alfred! Kiku!" An unexpected voice called out.

"…Mattie!"

The Canadian appeared at the end of the hall, pleasantly surprised expression instantly changing to dismay as he took in the situation.

"…Alfred! You're hurt!" He rushed forward, but a shout stopped him.

"DON'T!" It was Kiku, whose suddenly loud and cutting voice startling both blondes; "DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!"

Matthew didn't understand, though he immediately halted; "But-But—…we have to get Alfred—"

"-_Wait_!" A reply cut in; "…Wait until he is distracted…" The Japanese man, despite of his calm and deadly façade, was trembling. His eyes narrowed; the next time he spoke, it was in a dark tone underlined with suppressed fear:

"…He is incredibly strong, and much more skilled…I will not be able to fight him for long; we will only have one chance to get out of here, so we_ must not be rash_…"

Matthew, still in his place, suddenly felt a stab in his heart.

Guilt was overwhelming.

This was all his fault, all of it…if he hadn't acted so impulsively and came to the mansion then—

…

…And he promised; he promised he wouldn't do this again…not after what happened with Mrs. Moore during the Hedgewood case.

But he didn't have much time to dwell on it as Alfred gave a low moan of pain, and hung his head down; the American was losing too much blood, and was weakening.

"This is what we will do," Kiku took the position of command as the usual leader was down and losing consciousness, "I will attack him, and as soon as I begin, Matthew-san, you will take Alfred-san and run. I will try to hold him off for as long as I can."

"…Wait…" Alfred spoke, his voice abnormally hushed, "…Francis—"

"It will be up to the two of you to find him," A hard glint entered Kiku's dark eyes, "I apologize, but I will not be able to help."

"…F-Francis is here…?" It was hard to tell what emotion dominated Matthew's small voice as too many were laced into it.

"Please do as I say, and if you cannot find Francis-san in time…" The Japanese man swallowed; he hated to say it, but he knew he had to. "If you cannot find him…you must leave him…"

"-Wh-What? NO! I can't do that!" The Canadian immediately retaliated with a sharp voice, "I will never leave Francis behind when there's a—"

He did not have time to finish his sentence as the tall form, sensing Kiku's slight shift in attention, shot forward and swung out his sword.

Kiku shouted out sharply with a jolt, immediately blocking the attack, though he had almost been too late. He got a small nick on his upper arm, but it turned out to be, luckily, only the fabrics of his suit.

He jumped back a few steps, an angry growl on his face. Wasting no time, he charged forward, switching his role to that of offense.

Metal clashed against each other in a deadly duet; flashing silver danced to kill, though only one of the two huffed out breaths of exertion. Sweat began to form; a droplet rolled down Kiku's face.

His opponent was not only a lot stronger than he was, but a lot faster and cunning, not to mention much more experienced. What was usually a hobby for the Japanese man had now turned into a battle of life and death for not only himself, but his friends as well.

The opposing sword suddenly thrust forward, and he gasped, almost getting pierced in the gut. With a rising cry, he delivered a series of quick swings, turning on his feet and beating the hilt of his katana against the armoured head of the spirit's.

It was a dirty move, and seemed to anger the larger figure. He felt a cringe of shame at himself, but for the situation, he had to do it.

Pushing the strangely solid apparition back, he screamed for the blondes to move: "Get Alfred-san out of here! Get out of here! Now! We have no time! You must—"

His sentence was cut off as a blow hit him on the side of his face. He crashed into the side wall from the force behind the hit alone.

Groaning and shaking the buzz out of his head, he considered himself lucky that the spirit had not used the handle of its weapon. If it had, he was sure his cheek would've been torn.

From the corners of his eyes, he could barely see Matthew, supporting Alfred, slowly making their way down the hall to safety.

His small moment of relief that the plan was being followed through was short lived.

A large hand suddenly grabbed around his throat, grip tight and painful, and holstered his body up into the air.

The initial pain of such a crushing hold had not even registered yet, and he was already struggling and pulling at the hand to breathe. He tried to swing his sword out to attack, but another large hand caught his wrist in a vice-grip and clenched.

A strangled cry ripped from his lips, and his sword fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

His wrist was, thankfully, not broken, but all strength had left it.

Gurgling and choking, he tried to kick, claw, and do whatever he could to land a blow on the one squeezing his neck and cutting off his air supply, but it was futile.

He couldn't hear Matthew's frightened and helpless cries, or Alfred's grunts as he fought to stay awake and not go into shock.

He could feel strength leaving his limbs, and cursed.

His vision was starting to darken.

Lips apart, he wheezed, feeling his eyelids beginning to droop.

Through blurry vision, he saw the figure raise his katana.

Suddenly, a loud cry sounded from the end of the hall, and a sudden wave of unseen energy slammed into the back of the tall, dark figure, and it shook, its hold around his neck loosening.

With a sudden rush of renewed strength, he delivered a kick, not quite knowing where it hit, but managed to cause the grip around his throat to loosen completely.

He fell to the ground, gasping in raspy breaths, and forced his body upright.

Picking up his own katana, he took a few steps back to a safer distance, and finally saw what it was that saved him.

"_What_" was a bad word to use when addressing his future brother-in-law.

Yao stood at the other end of the hall, expression calm, but focused, dark eyes bright and flashing in the dark. A sword very different in shape than the ones Kiku and the spirit used was held tightly in his right hand, while the other held the sheath. He was still, frozen in a practiced position, one leg extended out in front of him while the other was in a firm half-crouch, supporting his weight in perfect balance. There was a sense of tranquility about him as his body seemed to emit a slight glow, but, at the same time, it felt dangerous.

The dark figure stood up straighter, eyeing the new arrival carefully.

For a long moment, they simply watched each other.

Yao was the first to move.

Breathy whispers left his slightly parted lips, and his sword suddenly began to very visibly and clearly glow. More prominently were characters bursting into light as if etched into the metal, connected by a fluid brush stroke. The Chinese man shifted in his position, motions slow and fluid, and settled into a more offensive stance.

It was then the spirit abruptly sprung forward, and attacked.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Francis wasn't faring any better.

As soon as he heard the crude call of fright and pain from Alfred, he'd sprinted out of the room he was in, and would've run down the hall and the stairs if it weren't for—

…Well…

Another orb, flashing and flickering as if lightning in the air, shot down towards him.

Quickly jumping aside, he barely avoided being cut by the glowing, floating sphere as it disappeared through the wall.

He'd been fighting the little menaces for much longer than he would've liked.

It wasn't quite fighting either; he wasn't Ivan after all.

He dodged and tried to make his way towards the stairs as quickly as he could, ducking and leaping out of the way. He had attempted to hit them, but it proved to be a bad idea as they almost burnt his gloves right off of his hands.

There was a gaping hole on one of his gloves, exposing his palm, from that one time he slapped one of them away from crashing into his face.

No one and nothing is allowed hurt his beautiful face, damnit!

He also learnt that, when being hit by those annoying little buggers, a small cut is not the only problem.

They left behind a sting painful enough to make one fall onto one's knees despite of the actual almost lack of injury.

He didn't know where they'd come from; all of a sudden they were everywhere, and sensed his presence just as immediately.

Leaping forward and ducking out of the way of another one aiming for his head, he perked up as he finally saw the staircase.

Wasting no time, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him; his hand, the one still somewhat completely gloved, reached forward, and touched the stair handle.

It was then an eruption of pain burst out from his ankle.

One of those damned things hit him!

Crying out, he lost his footing, and fell forward.

He tumbled down the stairs, limbs hitting sharp, wooden edges and head beating against the wall.

Purely out of reflex, his hands shot up and wrapped around his head as he crash-landed, back colliding against the floor with a loud "THUD" that knocked the air out of his lungs.

It was a strange sensation, not to mention extremely agonizing to try to gasp in pain while your lungs collapsed on you.

He did not move from his position, clutching his head, and curled into a ball, waiting for the anguish to pass.

When he felt that he could get up again without the world spinning around him, when the pain dropped just below his tolerance threshold, he pushed his body up to stand, and forced his shaky legs to take him to the general direction of where the commotion was.

Francis knew his friends were probably not doing much better, and, gritting his teeth as he felt something warm trickle down the side of his face despite of his best efforts to brace his fall (his hair was sticking to it, which felt gross), tried to make his way as fast as he could around the corner, sounds of a heated scuffle growing near.

Suddenly, at the corner where one hall met another, two figures with blond hair appeared, hurriedly backing up. One was supporting the other, but both wore terrified expressions on their faces.

He immediately recognized them, though one in particular made his heart swell in blossoming happiness.

"_-Matthieu!_" He called out, and almost fell over from the rush of intense relief that overwhelmed his heart.

Matthew turned, and, right away, caught his eyes and gasped.

"-Francis!"

"_Matthieu! Oh Matthieu—_" He ran over, a small smile despite of the situation appearing on his lips.

To his great confusion, the Canadian's expressions only turned more horrified.

"-NO, FRANCIS! DON'T—"

He stepped into the opening to the crossing hall, and suddenly became aware of a large, dark shadow looming over him.

Francis turned, only vaguely aware of his little Matthieu's desperate, panic-stricken cries, and watched with wide eyes as a glinting sword was swung down towards him.

Without the time for thoughts, both of his hands shot up, and grabbed onto the attacker's arms.

Suddenly, a blast of extreme pain horrible enough to split open his skull exploded inside him, and he screamed, a broken sound echoing in the mansion, before all consciousness slipped.

He fell into a dark abyss, and knew no more.

~o0o0o~

Yao ran forward, stopping a few steps away from the Frenchman, who had fallen onto his knees and was clutching his head.

The Chinese man had been fending the spirit off quite effectively, as his style of sword-fighting seemed to confuse it, which made his attacks hold much more impact, especially since his weapon was specially made to combat foes which usually could not be physically harmed. It still confused him that Kiku could come in contact with the figure without enchantments or abilities. So far, Ivan was the only person he knew who could directly touch and put (sometimes fatal) blows to supernatural beings without any magical aid, despite of whether the apparitions or demonic presences wanted to be touched or not. Yao knew that even the highest of priests, Daoshi, warlocks, or whatever other forms of power-wielders could not achieve such a thing unless with weapons made for such purposes.

Something was strange about this…_thing_, though he put that thought aside for the time being.

Speaking of the thing, it seemed to have vanished in thin air. As soon as it did, Francis fell into violent spasms and shrieked, before dropping down to a kneeling position, cradling his head. He still had not moved, and Matthew, along with Alfred, stared at him with round eyes, motionless and unconsciously huddling closer to each other.

Kiku remained standing and watching from afar, but was attentive.

"…Francis…?" Matthew was the first to speak, tentatively reaching out a hand.

"Mattie! No!" Alfred gave a harsh whisper, pulling the Canadian back.

"Stop that, eh!" The shorter blonde gave the other a nudge; "This is _Francis_."

The American pressed his lips together, clearly not wanting the younger male to touch his fallen lover just yet (what just happened was still too suspicious), but was silent. He seemed to be jolted out of his moment of weakness and wavering consciousness by the sudden turn of events, though his face was still rather pale and clammy-looking.

Yao knew they had to get themselves out of here and get Alfred's wounds treated as soon as possible, but it was hard to determine what just occurred, looking down at the unmoving Frenchman.

Matthew took a small step forward, eyes alert and bright; when he spoke, his voice was slightly hesitant, and shaky:

"…Francis, are you okay?"

There was no reply.

"…Speak to me, eh?" The Canadian gave a weak laugh devoid of humour; "Are you—Are you hurt…?" His hand was mere inches away from the still form.

"…Francis—" He touched his lover on the shoulder; his fingers barely brushed against the rich fabric of the still form's jacket when a sudden movement made him gasp in fright.

His startled cry had not even left his lips yet when a hand clamped around his neck, its abruptness so quick that it was a blur before his eyes.

"-MATTIE!" He heard Alfred's voice seconds before the back of his head crashed into the wall he was thrown into.

But that was the least of his worries.

His neck was getting crushed under the iron-grip; he could feel the cartilage of his windpipe crinkling as it was starting to collapse in on itself.

Clawing at the hand and legs kicking feebly under him, tears appeared in his eyes as the pressure grew unbearable. Black spots started to appear in his vision, and he was almost glad, as it partially blocked the sight of Francis' frighteningly stoic face and glare of piercing hatred bearing into his eyes.

"-F-Francis—" He choked out, but it was almost immediately cut off as the hand tightened even more.

Tears fell.

_-Francis—Francis—No—!_

"-What the hell Francis!" There was a sharp cry of pain from Alfred, but, as much as he wanted to know what had happened to his friend, Matthew couldn't turn away from his lover's ocean blue eyes, so familiar yet so foreign with hostility.

It shook his core, and fear quickly escalated into something excruciating.

_-Francis—…h-help—help…!_

Fingers dug into the soft flesh of his neck, and he felt the support of his airway starting to give.

Panic hit him when the Frenchman, who always gazed into his eyes with such warmth and love, leered at him, eyes never once blinking, with a visage horrible and gleeful, stretching his face into an expression most appalling and unrecognizable.

Matthew's eyes widened.

_-N-No—…!_

Suddenly, as abrupt as the initial attack on his person, there came a strong wave of invisible energy. Yao's voice instantly grew close and distinct, yelling in a language he did not understand, and a surge of bright light hit them.

Francis' hand immediately fell away as another scream, louder than the one before, compounded by an underlining tone separate from his real voice, ripped out of his throat.

His body crumbled to the floor, and the light faded.

Coughing and wheezing, Matthew dropped to his knees, holding his neck with shaky hands.

Beside the two, Alfred stirred, and forced himself up to unsteadily stand on his feet. One of his cheeks sported a nasty bruise already darkening; blood trickled down the corner of his lips while his face wore a pained grimace.

Francis must've hit him pretty hard.

The American snapped his face to the side and spat out blood, breaths deep and laboured, before addressing his team: "…What the hell happened?"

Yao, eyes never leaving the unconscious form on the floor, heaved a shaky sigh; "He was possessed, aru."

"I _know _that!" Alfred cut in rather rudely, eyes flashing, though no one commented, "Was that deliberate? That thing touched Kiku too didn't it? And he didn't get possessed."

"We shouldn't figure out the details here, aru; we have to get out of here." Yao sheathed his sword; "Kiku, how are you feeling?"

The Japanese man looked a little pale, but was relatively unharmed, though shaken.

"I will be fine; please tell me what I need to do." He gave a firm nod, and put his katana down.

Yao gave him a thankful smile and nodded back before turning to Alfred; his dark eyes shimmered with worry. "Can you…Can you walk by yourself, aru?"

"I can walk just fine!" Alfred barked out and wiped the corner of his mouth with a hand; blood smeared all over it, and he swore under his breath.

Yao frowned, a little annoyed at the attitude, but brushed it aside to focus on more dire problems: "I know your legs are fine, but you are losing a lot of blood, and you looked very weak—"

"-I AM NOT WEAK!" A growled shout startled Matthew out of his stupor, and his head swiftly turned towards the source of the disrupting sound.

Alfred looked like he was battling too many emotions all at once; he averted his eyes from all the looks he was getting, and pushed himself off from the wall.

"…I'll be fine, alright?" He spoke again, but in a much softer voice, and sounded apologetic for yelling; "Just…_please_, don't worry about me. Get Francis out of here."

Yao pursed his lips, but didn't reply. Murmuring to Kiku, the two Asians quickly made their way forward and began trying to lift the unmoving body up.

Francis was at a good weight for his height, but, being completely limp and taller than both Yao and Kiku, it was hard for the duo to coordinate for moving him around; it didn't help that they were all experiencing unsteadiness after an overwhelming event in which some of them barely escaped a brutal death.

However, fortunately, after some efforts, they managed, and made their way towards escape.

Matthew was still sitting on the floor, staring into space as he once again sunk into a stupor. Alfred paused in front of him, a frown of concern on his face.

"Mattie?" He called out as gently as he could, "We can go now. We have to get out of here before that crazy son of a bitch comes out again, yeah?"

The Canadian didn't move at all except to tilt his head upwards and return his gaze with empty eyes.

The hero sighed, and reached down a hand with his unharmed arm; "C'mon, let's get outta here." He gave a faltering smile, but, as crooked as it was, a smile was still a smile – a warm expression, and it seemed to bring back some life to the younger man sitting on the floor.

Matthew nodded, and took that hand.

They half-stumbled down the stone steps right outside the main entrance to the mansion, and hastily ran out through the garden gates.

It wasn't until the wooden double doors were slammed shut did they allow themselves a breath of relief.

Matthew noticed with mild interest that, somehow, the cut from the spirit's katana when it was imbedded into the wood did not actually penetrate through like how he imagined it did, but decided a small detail like that could be overlooked.

They had just started moving again towards the side house when they spotted the headlights of a car and heard voices calling their names. Not long after, the household employees, led by Mei, spotted them and stopped not far from where they were, rushing out of the car.

As soon as Francis was carefully placed onto the backseats of the vehicle, Mei, fresh tears mingling with half-dried ones, burst into sobs and pulled Kiku into her arms, which trembled badly. Kiku, instead of being flustered and embarrassed like the first time that happened, immediately hugged her back with equal passion, eyes squeezing close.

There was a moment that, as he was fighting the monster that haunted his family's mansion, he thought he would never be able to hold his fiancée in his arms again.

It was almost surreal that her warmth was pressed against his body.

His mind was reeling; the entirety of the situation that just occurred had finally settled over him, and, for the first time in his life, he had never felt so truly, utterly terrified.

He started to shake, and tears stung his eyes, but he only embraced Mei closer, and hid his face against the side of her neck.

Kiku was not the only one experiencing aftershock.

Yao and Alfred, both with attention on the hugging couple, didn't notice how pale Matthew had become until the Canadian suddenly fell to his knees and doubled over.

"-Shit!" Alfred cursed, and would've slapped himself if Francis hadn't already hit him in the face. He was immediately knelt down by the younger male's side, hands on his shoulders; "Mattie? Mattie, listen to me; listen to me real good: it wasn't your fault; it wasn't your fault." Yao was seen on the other side of the strawberry blonde, lips pressed into a thin line and dark eyes watching attentively.

"…_I…I almost…I almost killed you…I almost killed you…!_" Whispers, rising and dropping abruptly in tone and volume left Matthew's lips, which barely moved. His bright eyes were stretched wide, unblinking. Both men at his sides bit back a gasp of shock as they noticed that they were completely dilated.

_-my fault…my fault…_

_They could've died…They could've died…!_

_Just like—Just like—_

_**SCREEEEEEECH—!**_

_-too late—too late—_

_**-THUD!**_

_-Torn, mangled, twisted, broken, squished under tires, flesh red and bones white—_

_**-SPLATTER!**_

_-Rain water—Rain water—_

_-Warm—Metallic—_

_-Blood—_

_-Blood—_

"_-P-Papa—_

"_-Papa--!_

"_-PAPA—!"_

"-What—What the hell's goin' on?" The American cried out in alarm, catching Yao's equally confused and frightened look for a split second before snapping his attention back to Matthew's face once more; "Why the hell is he like this? I've seen nervous breakdowns but this is—I've never seen _this_ before!"

"I don't know, but it's looking bad." It only took half of a moment for the Chinese man to make his decision; he stood up, determination and certainty unwavering in his expressions, and whispered: "Forgive me, Matthew." He swung his arm down, and the side of his hand collided against the back of the young blonde's head.

Matthew instantly lost consciousness, and fell forward.

Alfred made a grunt of surprise, but caught the Canadian.

The household employees, after making sure Francis had no immediately life-threatening injuries, quickly ran over to inspect the other two blondes. Yao, stumbling through Japanese, instructed them to move Matthew into the car, and forced a protesting American ("I _told_ you I'm _fine_!") into the passenger's seat.

As the car drove off to the nearest town hospital, the Chinese man sighed, and, for the first time since the entire ordeal, felt thoroughly drained. He almost couldn't support himself upright on his feet by how heavy his heart was, but knew he must stand and be strong, if not for anyone else, at least for his sister, and the promise to Ivan that he'd keep everyone safe.

He could _really_ use some cheering up from the Russian.

Kiku and Mei were still hugging, and he felt a little sheepishly embarrassed when breaking them apart so they could start making their way back to the side house.

A burdened silence hung over them; the lingering household employees led the way, looking back every once in a while to make sure they were following.

"…I need a drink…something strong, aru…" Yao broke the silence, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands.

"I will ask for the '_baijiu_' to be brought out." Kiku whispered a reply.

"Thank you." Yao nodded, and thought he could never be more grateful towards the Japanese man than at that moment.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translation:**

_Baijiu_ – According to wikipedia, literal translation means "white liquor"; I think it's pretty popular in China.

**Ending Notes:** So, what'd ya guys think? 8D

Hmmm…I don't really have much to say here to be honest 'cause I think this chapter's pretty self-explanatory. I mean, Alfred thought he was gonna die. Kiku thought he was gonna die. Francis thought he was gonna die. And then Mattie thought he was gonna die, again. Pretty much all of them thought they were gonna die at one point or another in this chapter except for Yao doing some supernatural kick-ass…XD

Oh, and Matthie found a turtle.

But I gotta say, I had a lot of fun with this chapter, and I hope y'all had the same! Congrats to everyone who guessed right (about Francis being possessed) from the little teaser from the last chapter too! :DDDD

Just in case anyone's wondering: Yep! I got the attacking orbs idea from this one episode of Ghost Hunt. It's an awesome anime; definitely check it out especially if you like ghost-related things!

Oh! Oh! Something awesome happened two days ago! I went on the computer, and found out that this story is being translated into Chinese by Vita914! Isn't that so wickedly cool? –hops around happily– Oh man, I wish I could read Chinese!

In other news, I'm not sick anymore! YEEAAAHHHH—! Thank you guys so much for all the get-well wishes and everything! You are all such wonderful sweethearts! ;_; –gives everyone big, squishy hugs–

Sorry for the lack of Ivan for the past little while; I'm afraid that he won't be really returning with a big part until some time later…I'm so sorry! It's just that there will be a lot of things going on with the team in Japan and Arthur in England, so the focus will be shifted towards those things for now. However, I have not forgotten about our favourite Russian! He will be returning with something unexpected later on in the story. ;)

Oh, oh, also, I'm catching up with answering reviews! I only have Ch. 26 ones left to give replies to, and I apologize sincerely for how late they are. X_X But I'm getting there, so thank you guys super much for being so patient with me!

Anyways, I'll talk to y'all later, yeah? Much love to yoooouuu—! –sparkly hearts–

Ps: Some of you are probably gonna be angry with me for this but…I think I'm going to keep this bi-weekly updating schedule at least for the next few months.

BEFORE YOU START THROWING TOMATOES AT ME, PLEASE HEAR ME OUT—! –Hides behind a rock–

…Well…It's just that there are lots of things going on all at once by this point in the story, so it's harder for me to keep a track of things, so I would like more time just to make sure I don't write something somewhere along the line that's gonna come bite me in the ass in the future for creating an awkward paradox of some sort. I want to make sure everything makes sense for everyone! I promise the chapters will be longer though! _ I'm so sorry for making y'all wait longer, but I'll try my best to make the wait worth it!

Pps: …I think I like punching Andreas Thorne…


	28. CASE3: H E, Just like Papa

**Author's Notes: **I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LATENESS OF THIS UPDATE! I took a nap and overslept…DX

Ok, enough excuses; here's the chapter everyone!

I'm so sorry once again! ;_;

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

…

…_I killed Papa…_

_Papa…_

_Papa thinks I hate him…_

…_And I killed him…_

…

"…_P-Papa…Wake up…Wake up, Papa…"_

_Blood is spreading, slowly, hypnotically._

_He watched, fascinated, and thought that his heart had stopped beating._

_Something wet slid down his cheeks._

_Was it tears…or blood…?_

_Papa's…or his…?_

…

_Papa suddenly moved._

_He blinked._

_Was it his imagination…?_

_He frowned._

_He was certain that, by now, Arthur was supposed to appear around the truck, and completely pale upon seeing the distorted body with its torn limbs, before immediately rushing forward and gathering him into a desperate, tight hug, covering his eyes in a pointless attempt at shielding him from the sight._

_Papa's shoulder, the one only half-connected to the arm squished under the truck's tires, gave a sudden jerk._

_He blinked again._

_What—_

_Papa's eyes suddenly rolled inside his head, and hit him with a piercing, angry stare._

_He cried out, voice much younger and higher than in reality._

_No—This wasn't—This wasn't part of the—_

_Papa, pushing himself out from under the tires and ripping his torso apart in the process, glared at him unblinkingly. Blood fell into his eyes, and they turned red._

_Organs splattered out onto cement; more bright crimson spread through rainwater._

_Papa dropped to the ground once more, motionless and limp with another sickening splatter._

_He hadn't realized he'd lifted his hands to cover his lips, holding his breath._

_Papa began to move again, and twisted his head so that they could see each other._

_Time seemed to stop._

_He didn't dare blink, eyes stretched wide and prickling painfully._

_He didn't dare utter a sound, hands still pressed flat against his mouth._

_Suddenly, with a deafening shriek, the severed body of his Papa flew forward and crashed into his chest._

_The motion was so abrupt that he hadn't even had the time to register it had happened until he truly felt the weight of his Papa's bloody head on top of him._

_And he screamed._

_He screamed…_

_He fell…_

_Rainwater seeped through the fabrics of his pants, and blood stained them…_

_Papa's eyes rolled up, and peered into his own._

_A hand flung out and snapped around his neck, and squeezed._

_He screamed._

_He screamed…_

_And fell back fully to the ground, head hitting the curb…_

_Papa was lying over him, a twisted grin tearing the skin of his cheeks._

_The hand around his neck clenched even further, almost impossibly tight, and he felt the pressure mount to unbearable._

_But something else caught his attention as Papa's features suddenly grew distorted, and began to change._

…_Ocean blue eyes…_

…_Beautiful ocean blue eyes…_

_It was hard to breathe._

_He wanted to struggle, to fight back._

…_But he couldn't._

_He shook his head, and wanted to squeeze his eyes shut to hide from the horrifying sight._

_But he couldn't…_

…

…_Because…_

…_B-Because—…_

…_**I—…**_

_-N-No…_

_-__**I love you…**_

_Blood fell down to his face._

…_**I love you…**_

_It was warm, like the hand squeezing tighter around his neck._

_**I love—**_

_But it felt cold…so cold…_

_**-You…!**_

_Tears fell from his eyes, mingling with the blood and dyed red…_

_**-Francis…**_

…_Francis…_

…

…_Don't hate me…_

_Please don't hate me…_

…_**Don't leave me…**_

~o0o0o0o0o~

When Francis woke up, he was instantly confused.

It didn't help that only a white ceiling met his eyes and that the world spun in a lazy circle around him.

However, the boring view immediately changed when a face suddenly popped into his sight, quite literally scaring the daylights out of him.

"-Francis!"

Messy blond hair, vibrant blue eyes, and a toothy grin…

"…Alfred…" He groaned, raising an arm that felt as if it was made out of lead to rub his face, "Did you have to come out of nowhere to frighten me as soon as I am awake…?"

"Awwww, I'm just excited t' see ya up!" The American had the nerve to give him a hard pat on the chest that was more of a smack than anything else.

He put his arm down and gave the cheeky man a weak glare.

His head was hurting badly; the bright light and Alfred's loud voice weren't helping it get any better.

Sighing, he tried a few slow blinks.

"…Where are we?"

"We're in a small, nearby town hospital close to Kiku's mansion." Alfred was actually munching on a _burger_; it looked suspiciously like a Big Mac.

The Big Mac quickly lost Francis' attention as he noticed bandages wrapped around the entirety of one of Alfred's upper arms, and that one of his cheeks was quite bruised.

He didn't know how he could've missed it, but he blamed his overall confusion.

"What happened?" It was extremely difficult to recall, but, after many moments of thinking so hard that it hurt, he realized that the last thing he remembered was trying to not get cut in half by a crazy warrior spirit.

…There was a large, burnt hole on one of his gloves…

He almost startled, but was immediately reassured as he felt cotton around his hands.

Alfred swallowed his mouthful, and picked up his soda.

It was definitely McDonald's…

"You were possessed somehow, but Yao saved your ass." Alfred explained after slurping down his drink; "You fainted, but we got out of the mansion, and were sent here. They got me wrapped up, checked ya over, found some minor injuries and said you have a mild concussion. It isn't too serious, but they said you might feel dizzy for a few days."

Francis assumed "they" were the doctors.

"How did you get a concussion anyways?" The American gave him a curious look.

"I—…" How _did_ he get a concussion?

After another silent while of hard thinking, he winced as a jab of pain shot into his head; "…I fell down the stairs…"

"How did you fall down the stairs?"

"I…" Another sudden, sharp stinging pinch caused him to cringe; Francis _really_ didn't fancy the idea of speaking at the moment. "…Later, Alfred, I will explain everything to you later." He sighed as, thankfully, the pinch quickly faded away to a throb, and closed his eyes to the brightness of the room.

There was a shuffle before the sound of chewing commenced, but the semi-silence did not last long.

"…I'm just glad you're up," Alfred's words were a little mumbled together; he was speaking through a mouthful again. "Matthew's still not up yet."

That instantly got Francis' full attention.

Ocean blue eyes snapped open, and suddenly, everything in front of him became crystal clear against the general buzzing at the back of his head.

"What do you mean? What happened to Matthieu?"

At first he'd just assumed that the Canadian was back at the side house with the rest of the team, possibly resting, hence his absence, but that was obviously not the case.

"I donno, man," Alfred paused in chewing; "The doctors donno either. There's nothing really_ wrong_ with him; he doesn't have any injuries except for scrapes and stuff, but he's just not wakin' up."

Francis didn't reply and merely stared at him in dismay.

"I tried to call Arthur, but it's not going through again." Alfred actually put his _burger_ down; "…I just—…I donno what's happenin', man! I was hoping that Arthur'd know something since he's Matthew's cousin and all. 'Cause who knows? Maybe something similar's happened before. But his line is just _dead_! Again! I was calling from Yao's phone too! So there's really no reason for him to not pick up 'cause it's not like he's ignoring _Yao_."

It was obvious how stressed out the American was, and Francis didn't blame him; he was starting to feel anxious too.

"I need to see Matthieu." He said, and pushed himself upright despite of how agonizing his headache had become.

"Whoa, whoa! Slow down!" Alfred put his food aside on top of the small, bedside table, and quickly went to the Frenchman's side, easing his struggles by lending a helping hand.

"…_Merci, mon ami…_" Came a mumble as gloved fingers wrapped around his, and Francis got up, biting down on his lips with a grimace at the wave of nausea and overall great discomfort his body protested against his actions with.

When he tried to push onto his feet into a standing position, he realized too late that his sense of balance was far from intact. With a surprised, hitched gasp, he fell forward, and thanked Alfred again while the other man yelped and pulled him up with all his might with one arm.

"Do you want me to get you a wheelchair or something?"

As sincerely helpful as that question was, Francis couldn't help but feel a little offended, out of stubbornness if anything.

"I…will walk slowly." He mumbled, and tried easing himself onto his feet again.

The second attempt was much better-managed, and he quickly regained more control over his motor skills.

Luckily Matthew's room was the next one over, so he didn't have to walk too much.

He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious for, but he knew it was long enough for his stomach to be so empty that there was absolutely no support whatsoever in his midsection.

Alfred, after turning the knob, kicked the door open unceremoniously, catching the attention of a few nurses down the hall. Waving a hand to signal that everything was fine, he led the Frenchman into the room.

As soon as the still form of his little Matthieu came into view, he pushed himself forward into a half-run, not heeding the surprised protests Alfred gave him, and pretty much stumbled across the room before falling to the Canadian's bedside.

His sense of balance spun around horribly. His hands clutched the bed sheets. He leaned his whole weight onto them so he wouldn't crumble to the ground. He managed to get into a sitting position, and was vaguely aware of nurses arriving into the room and Alfred trying to explain to them that everything was fine.

"…Matthieu?" He reached over a hand. It took him a moment to wrap it around the unconscious man's face. Everything was still shifting slowly in front of his eyes despite of how hard he tried to blink it better.

"…_Mon chéri,_" He leaned closer, voice loving and soft, but wavering; his thumb gently caressed the unnaturally pale skin, hoping to rouse the motionless form into awareness; "_Réveilles-toi, s'il te plaît…C'est moi, ton Fran__c__is._"

Matthew was still, too still. His breaths barely disturbed his body; it was hard to see his chest rise and fall. His eyelashes did not flutter.

He looked like a beautiful corpse.

Francis' only comfort was that he was warm under his touch.

"_Oh Matthieu, s'il te plaît…Ouvre tes yeux, mon amour…Souris pour moi._" His little Matthieu did not move, and remained as he was.

He leaned in even closer, and gave the pale lips a firm kiss, wishing with every fiber of his being that magic like those in fairy tales existed in the moment and that the Canadian would wake up.

He leaned back, watching attentively, wide eyes unblinking.

There was no response.

A wave of anguish stronger than anything he'd ever experienced stabbed at his heart, and, as much as it pained him, he could not turn his eyes away from the sight of his unconscious lover.

Matthieu had been hesitant about taking the case, but agreed to come because of his persuasion, because he _trusted_ him.

And look at what that trust had led to.

It suddenly became too much to watch his little Matthieu's expressionless face. He turned his head away, resting it against a palm covering his eyes.

He sighed, wanting to tug at his hair just to ease some of that heavy, wrenching feeling inside his chest.

But he did not, because he didn't want to worry Alfred, who carried all burdens, even those not of his own, especially those not of his own, and was not as invincible as he believed himself to be.

…What if Matthieu never wakes up…?

From what information he'd gathered, bits and pieces about the younger blonde, he could take a good guess that his lover had a childhood trauma so horrible that it was enough to stay with him and constantly haunt his life even after so many years.

He'd known, or at least heard of instances where, when a person with such a delicate mentality experiences anything that is deemed in any way similar to that traumatic incident, no matter how minor or far-fetched the association may seem to anyone else, it might render the person to experience a manic episode, or fall into a state of comatose as a defensive reflex of the mind to keep it from completely collapsing.

…What if Matthieu never wakes up…

…No…

Please no…

…No…!

He rubbed his face hidden behind curtains of shimmering, golden hair, eyes open but unseen by others in the room, and tried to calm his increasingly panicking heart with deep breaths, though that hardly helped.

If only he hadn't brushed aside the suspicion that he heard his name being called while at the mansion, and went to look around, he probably would've found his little Matthieu, and this wouldn't have happened.

If only he'd gone back to the mansion sooner instead of wasting his time searching the side house, this wouldn't have happened…

If only—

…If only…

There was a small movement.

He immediately perked his head up.

It was a mere flicker so brief that it was gone in a split of a second later.

But he held his breath, afraid to blink in case he missed it again.

He was still – still as the unconscious man lying on the bed pale as a marble statue.

Matthew took a small, sharp gasp, and his shoulders made a tiny, jerking movement.

"Matthieu?" He called, breaths almost catching in his throat, voice gaining a hopeful note, which caught Alfred and the nurses' attention.

The Canadian's eyes were moving slowly behind closed eyelids, and his head began to shift slightly to the side.

"Matthieu? Are you waking?" He called out again, hoping his voice would guide the almost struggling man to rouse him from his deep sleep.

He had never been so hopeful yet scared at the same time.

Matthew's lips quivered, and moved.

Francis frowned slightly; was he…whispering something…?

"…Matthieu?"

There was a soft mumble.

He was talking!

"Matthieu, what is it?" He reached forward and held onto one of Matthew's hands, squeezing a little in encouragement.

A light groan left the pair of barely moving lips.

"…What is it, _mon ange_?" Gaining a more urgent tone, he spoke softly, giving the limp hand a kiss.

The hand gave a small jolt, and squeezed back.

"…

"…_I love you…_"

Francis froze.

"…_I love you…_"

Matthew's eyebrows furrowed, and something wet gathered underneath his fluttering eyelashes.

"_I love you…_

…_Francis…_

…

…_Don't hate me…_"

Tears slid down along the side of his face.

"—_Please don't hate me…_" He whimpered:

"…_Don't leave me…_"

The room was dead silent except for the quiet tick-tocks of the clock on the wall.

Alfred would've sworn that time really had stopped if it weren't for that sound, and how Matthew's tears continued to fall.

Francis was motionless, watching his lover's face. On his own, there was an expression of absolute shock mingled with heartbreak.

It was the first time Matthew spoke the words that he'd been craving for ever since the beginning of their relationship. He always knew that the younger man loved him, but the Canadian had never spoken it as if he was afraid.

He never said them, until now.

…And now that he said it…

Francis felt a heavy tremble shiver through his body.

…Why did he not feel the rush of joy and the outburst of warmth overwhelm his body?

…Why was he crying…?

He didn't know who that question was directed towards, because he felt something wet slide down along the curve of his own cheekbones.

"…Matthieu…

"…Matthieu, wake up," He said, awkwardly gathering the smaller man into his arms; "Wake up; it's only a dream…it's only a dream…" He tilted his face and kissed Matthew's tears away, though his own continued fall to adorn the cheeks he kissed like liquid crystal; "It's only a dream…_Shhhhhh_…"

Alfred turned his eyes away; there was a bitter feeling at the back of his mouth. His nose burnt a little, and he loathed himself for it.

_Stupid Arthur with his stupid unresponsive phone in stupid faraway England…_

"…Only a dream…Only a dream…It isn't real; it isn't real…" Francis continued to shower his lover's face with butterfly kisses, hating the fact that his own tears were dampening his little Matthieu's beautiful, porcelain skin. He closed his eyes, so he wouldn't have to see.

"…Francis…?"

Then came a small moan, much more alert and distinct than the previous dreamy mumbles.

He immediately tensed to a halt, and leant back just enough to watch with keen, round eyes as the Canadian gave another groan, louder and much more awake.

Matthew stilled for a brief moment, and his eyelashes gave a shiver. They slowly parted, eyelids lifting, and suddenly, sparkling, topaz-blue eyes, clear and as if transparent gemstones, appeared, a little confused and disoriented.

They caught his instantly in a deep, hazy gaze.

"…Francis…" He spoke again, and the Frenchman could've openly wept out of relief and a combination of emotions so complicated and conflicted that he couldn't distinguish one from another no matter how hard he tried to, only knowing that it was heart-wrenching.

"_Matthieu, mon cher amour_," He gently cradled the pale face with his hands, vision blurring; his heart was trembling, and he almost didn't know how to speak, but it was easy to find what to say:

"…_Je t'aime…mon coeur…_

"…_Je t'aime tellement._"

He tilted his face and made to give his love a passionate kiss, but a whisper stopped him in his tracks.

"…I'm sorry…"

He paused, leaning back and frowning in confusion.

"…_Matthieu…?_"

"…I'm sorry…" Matthew's eyebrows furrowed further, and his lips began to quiver as more tears swelled inside his eyes and fell in torrents; "_I'm so sorry!_" His body suddenly began to shake as he took in a hitched breath, and he broke out into violent sobs, eyes squeezing shut in shame.

Francis, startled and not understanding the reason behind the sudden change, was still for a moment.

"Why—…What are you talking about, _mon chéri_?" Trying not to let alarm overwhelm him, he asked, shushing the crying young man's choked back sniffles with a soft and tender voice.

"-I-I…I—" The Canadian's face was no longer pale, but flushed in a deep red; he averted his eyes as if looking at his lover pained him.

Hurt stabbed Francis in the heart without remourse, and he physically felt the sting, but kept it to himself; because right now, what mattered, the only thing that mattered, was how to calm the upset strawberry blonde. "_Shhhhh_…Look at me; look at me, Matthieu. Please look at me. Tell me what's bothering you."

"…I—I—" Hiccupping, it took Matthew a few good seconds before he could meet Francis' eyes again, "-I'm—I'm so sorry that I—I—…" Taking in a shuddering breath, he fought to keep his voice even enough to speak: "…I promised…I promised I wouldn't—…I-I promised I wouldn't—" He shook his head side to side, large droplets of tears leaving wet stains on the pillow under him; "-I promised I wouldn't fly off the handle and endanger everyone b-but I—but I—…Look what I've done! _Look what I've done!_" Hands flew up and clenched around soft blond hair; the Canadian pulled at the strands, knuckles turning white, almost yanking them out by the roots.

Francis, alarm blaring inside his head in a second, pried the digits off and grabbed onto the thin wrists to stop the younger man from hurting himself. His face was pale, expression aghast, shaken and shocked by how immense the self-hate was swimming inside soft, blue eyes.

"…You got hurt…Alfred got hurt…Kiku got hurt…Everyone got hurt because of me! Everyone got hurt because of _me_! Again! _Again!_" Matthew's cries became significantly louder and louder, thrashing under the Frenchman trying to yank his arms free so he could hide his face behind his hands.

"_Mon petit_, that is not true! That is not true!" Trying to keep the tremour out of his voice, the older male could barely keep his voice from cracking under the strain.

"N-No! No—! Don't! _Don't!_" The Canadian swung his head to the side and tried to bury his face into the pillow, lips apart in frenzied, wheezing gasps. His screams were partly muffled, but the terrified man above him thought that he heard:

"Just like Papa! J-Just like Papa—!"

"Matthieu! Matthieu!" He called out, frantic and pleading; "Don't turn away, Matthieu. Look at me; look at me!"

"Always because of me! _Always because of me!_"

"_-Non!_"Francis cried out, voice laced with pained passion; "_Non!_ _Matthieu! Arrête!_" His body shook under the strain of storms of emotions battling inside his chest, but his eyes remained unblinking, never leaving Matthew's.

"_Ce n'est pas vrai!_"

Suddenly, a violent spasm shocked through the Canadian's body as though he was hit by an electric shock. All muscles in his body were pulled completely taut; his limbs were stiff, and his eyes were stretched wide open.

Francis could hardly breathe.

Seconds slowly ticked by, and, little by little, agonizingly, the strawberry blonde began to grow limp.

Everyone watched, holding their breaths.

The arm Alfred held up to keep the nurses from interfering was beginning to drop as it ached.

Slowly, Matthew's body relaxed, and he was once again motionless on the bed.

Francis let out a shivering breath, and almost collapsed, but he kept himself strong, and his eyes never left his little Matthieu's face.

"…It's all my fault…" A small, wounded whimper cut through the silence, and tears continued to fall from his little Matthieu's eyes.

"…_Non, ce n'est pas…_" The Frenchman shook his head slightly but firmly; "…It isn't your fault, Matthieu; it was never you fault…" He whispered, expression pained and pleading.

Matthew did not move at first, but slowly, his head began to turn.

He looked up; his gaze was soft, but almost unseeing.

It hurt to see such a sight, and Francis spoke – his voice was barely a breath:

"…Do you not believe me, _mon amour_…?"

Taken back, surprise began to make its way into Matthew's widening eyes, and, bit by bit, life seemed to be returning to him.

"…_Do you not believe me…?_" Francis' words were barely a whisper, sorrowful, and imploring.

For long moments, they only looked at each other.

…_Do you not believe me…?_

Matthew couldn't think.

…

…Francis…

…He looked so sad and hurt…

…_Trust…_

…Trust…

…Did he trust Francis…?

…_I…do…?_

…He…trusted Francis…?

…_Do I…?_

…

Yes…

…_Yes…I do…_

Matthew was the first to blink.

His expression softened, and he gave a weak smile, corners of his lips tilting ever so slightly upwards:

"…I believe _you_, Francis."

It was a thankful smile devoid of anything else but gratitude, however, at that moment, all that mattered was that the self-hate was gone, and replaced by something that felt good.

Francis watched as _love_ slowly, but eventually make its way into his little Matthieu's beautiful, blue eyes, and was instantly overwhelmed by too many emotions.

He tilted his head and sealed their distance.

They met in a fervent kiss – eyes squeezed shut – desperately, and passionately.

A few steps away, Alfred watched, nibbling on his lips. Casting a few more glances at the couple, he turned away, and sighed, brushing a hand through his hair.

It was starting to hurt to look.

Excusing himself, he walked out the door, and took out the phone he borrowed from Yao.

_Arthur…Where are you…?_

~o0o0o0o0o~

Arthur was agitated, anxious, angry, irritated, nervous, and a bunch of other words describing similar emotions.

He paced back and forth in his room in a similar manner to that of a wild tiger locked in a small cage, feeling extremely suffocated and needing to do something but not quite knowing what.

It wasn't as though he could do much anyways, since his phone and all other electronics he owned which could allow him to communicate with others, along with everyone else's similar devices, had been taken to a safe, but hidden place. It was an understandable precaution to take for the purpose of monitoring their activities and making sure no one sells any information out, simply to ensure that all credits would be given to the right person(s) deserving it, and that nothing would fall into greedy hands with desires pertaining to only commercial profit.

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Not only that, but he was put under room-arrest too.

Well, not quite; he was just assigned a supervisor.

Though, frankly speaking, he preferred room-arrest a lot more than having a supervisor tailing him everywhere he went.

He blamed slimy Andreas Thorne, though he knew it wasn't really his fault since this was what happened to all wizards/witches prior to and during the days in which they performed experimental rituals which could possibly leave a great impact.

It wasn't the first time he had his phone taken away during the conference either, but this time, he had been extremely sensitive about it.

He had the strong feeling that someone was trying to contact him, and it wasn't out of a big ego or that he thought he was important. Ever since the time he dropped his tea cup during the lunch with his colleague, he'd been extremely on edge.

And with the stupid supervisor, he couldn't even go out and find a pay phone.

_And_, what was even worse was that he had _completely _forgotten to tell Alfred any of this.

He hoped to whatever gods watching over him that the American wouldn't take this the wrong way and think he disappeared from the face of the planet, or even worse, think that he was insinuating how their relationship was definitely unsalvageable.

Because it wasn't _definitely_ unsalvageable.

Just…A _little _bit…

…Kind of…

Still salvageable if he tried.

"…Oh for God's sakes, Arthur!" He threw down the book in his hand that he was trying but failing to read.

_It wasn't even a proper relationship anyway!_

He thought to himself, unaware of the scowl on his face, and wanted to give himself a good smack on the head.

_Stupid—Stupid—!_

_**Why**__ didn't you listen to Matthew and call the idiot before you left New York! He was right! You __**are**__ miserable!_

…_Look at yourself!_

He paused in front of the mirror and stared.

…_Damnit! Stupid eyebrows!_

He almost walked over to the bathroom and got the razor offered by the hotel to shave those hideous things off.

Thankfully he caught himself before he could actually do it.

He also regretted not listening to Feliks' advise.

Sighing, the British man rubbed his face with his hands.

There was nothing he could do about the situation now.

Deciding it was better to read over the notes for the ritual he was about to perform again and go over the details, Arthur stopped wasting his time to pacing, and sat back down onto his bed. A stack of papers was taken out from his suitcase.

Silence hung in the room, only disturbed every once in a while by sounds of paper flipping.

In truth, none of the words registered to his preoccupied mind, but he could at least pretend to be doing something, and that made him feel better just by a little bit.

~o0o0o0o0o~

After another night at the hospital, Alfred, Francis, and Matthew were able to return to the side house. Francis (after insisting to be released) was told to lie down as often as possible and to avoid exerting himself, while Matthew wasn't really told anything at all since they didn't really find anything wrong with him, at least not physically. The doctor had suspicions, but did not voice them as the Canadian became extremely reluctant and uncomfortable when asked. He was then requested to take care of his lover, and that was that.

Alfred was almost forced to stay at the hospital for one more night, but, growing impatient and feeling confined, he managed to convince the doctor (by whining and begging) that he was going to be extremely careful with his wounds, and that he had a "nurse" as a friend, who'd take great care of him.

Yao didn't appreciate being called a "nurse", though he kept it to himself to avoid further playful (but annoying) jibes at his masculinity.

The car ride back had been exceptionally bad for Francis, who was still somewhat disoriented and became awfully carsick. By the time they had finally reached a stop in front of the side house gates, the Frenchman was pale as bleached bed sheets. He was having such a horribly throbbing head on top of feeling so overwhelmingly nauseated that he could not move from his spot for a whole ten minutes, still as a statue with eyes staring straight and blank, lips pressed tightly together.

Eventually, with the help of his little Matthieu, he managed to get into the side house and find a comfortable spot to lie down in the dining room, which was temporarily used as a meeting/discussion room as well. His little Matthieu glanced over once in a while, still looking extremely ashamed and guilty. He tried to offer a reassuring smile each time, but, being as dizzy and hazy-minded as he was, hoped he didn't make any strange expressions.

When Yao arrived back into the room with a stack of papers, he was somewhat saved. Not that he didn't like having the Canadian's attention on him or giving smiles, not at all, but it was getting difficult to stay awake.

The trip from the hospital to the side house was tedious and took all strength from his body. If it were under normal circumstances his injuries wouldn't have been too bad, since, after all, he braced his fall from the stairs, and it was only a mild concussion. However, the abrupt possession shocked his system in a way that no medical experts could understand.

The group was complete as Yao took his seat. Beside him was Matthew, who was closest to the resting Frenchman, while Alfred sat on the opposite side, a large heap of food in front of him, which he munched happily on. Kiku, with Mei at his side, sat beside the American.

"While you were at the hospital," Yao spoke; to Francis, his voice sounded very far away for some reasons, "I took all my time to do research, aru."

"Did you find anything?" Alfred spoke next, though his voice was muffled. His wounds were healing quite well for how nasty they were, especially the big, sliced gash on his arm, which had finally stopped oozing blood; his body was already recuperating and demanding even more sustenance than usual to keep up with the recovery.

"Not really, aru," Yao sighed, flipping through his papers, "I spent the entire day yesterday looking and found interesting things, but nothing relevant."

"What _did_ you find then?" It took Francis' foggy mind a brief while to figure out what the American had said, since it was through a mouthful of various Japanese dishes.

"I found that it was very easy to find information for certain time periods, but there is one in particular that seems to just be…_missing_…"

There was a silence as confusion hung in the air.

"…What do you mean?" Matthew asked.

"There is…a big chunk of records that is completely gone, aru," Yao explained; "No matter how long I spent going over every little detail and using all the resources I could think of, I couldn't find anything."

"Records don't just _disappear_, man." Alfred piped up, though his statement was hardly helpful.

"…Maybe, do you think it is…_how do you say this_…it is…_ahhh_…" Francis frowned; the word was right on the tip of his tongue but he just couldn't remember it, and it frustrated him.

"…Deliberate?" Yao filled the word in.

"_Oui…_" Francis sighed, rubbing his eyes with his hands, "…Deliberate…"

"Yes, I believe so, aru."

There was a shuffle of clothing as someone got up. It turned out to be his little Matthieu. He felt familiar, soft hands cupping around his cheek and feeling his forehead.

"…Francis, are you okay?" Matthew asked; his voice was laden with worry.

Francis gave a small nod, and a weak smile. His eyes fluttered open, and met another pair equally as blue.

"I'm just tired, Matthieu," He wrapped one of his hands around the Canadian's, and turned his head to kiss the smaller palm; "Perhaps I should take a nap." His smile turned apologetic.

The Canadian nodded back, giving a concerned smile; "I'll help you to our room, eh?"

"_Oui…__s'il te plaît.__"_ He pushed up onto his elbows, closing his eyes against the swirling world around him. He felt the other man wrap an arm around his back, and helped him into an upright, sitting position.

He hated this, being so helpless, but he also knew that the best thing for him to do at the moment was to get better as soon as possible.

There were sounds of another pair of thudding footsteps approaching, and he suddenly felt another hand, rougher in touch, reaching around behind his body, supporting him.

"I'll help ya out," Alfred's voice spoke over his head to Matthew, and the two lifted his arms to wrap around their shoulders.

"Thank you, Alfred." Matthew's voice was warm with gratitude.

"Maybe I should help, aru," Yao said, looking at the American's still bandaged arm with concern.

"Don't worry about it; I'm only using my good arm." Francis could _hear_ the big grin in his voice; "Alright Mattie, on three. One, two, three—"

-And he was pulled up onto his feet, helped to balance by two arms wrapped around his back from both men on either side.

He wanted to argue that, despite of how the floor under him lazily swayed and how much he felt like he was walking on clouds, he could still make it to the bedroom without this much help, but, deciding that he should simply feel grateful that he had such wonderful people to care about his welfare this much, kept his mouth shut.

The trip to his room shared with little Matthieu was short, and he was soon tucked into soft comforters.

"I'll wake you up when we have lunch and bring it over for you, 'kay?" He opened his eyes, and saw Matthew's warm ones and smiling face.

"_Merci, mon __chéri_," He smiled back, eyes a little unfocused but equally as affectionate; "But I should join you in the dining room; it would be rude otherwise, _non_?" He reached up a hand, and brushed away a few strands of wayward hair from the Canadian's face.

"Of course not," Matthew shook his head, the looped curl on the top bouncing; Francis found himself distracted by it for a second or two. "The doctor said you shouldn't exert yourself, eh? So you should rest."

Giving a little sigh of reluctance but smile not dropping in the least, he nodded.

"_Bien!_" The strawberry blonde looked pleased and gave him a small grin.

The Frenchman chuckled, giving the blond head a ruffle. "But before you go, _mon petit chaton_, _je veux un baiser._" At that he puckered his lips cheekily and closed his eyes.

Matthew gave a cute little laugh; the sound was like soft dings of sweet bells to his ears.

"_I_ think you're going to be _just_ fine, Francis." He stated before leaning down, and gave the puckered lips a firm kiss. "Sweet dreams."

The Frenchman nodded slowly, expression relaxed and content. "…From such a sweet kiss I will definitely have a sweet dream…" He gave his eyebrows a wiggle, smile widening as he heard another small laughter.

Matthew, shaking his head a little but feeling amused and adored, gave the one lying down another peck; "Now, go to sleep like a good Frenchman, eh?"

"_Oui, monsieur…_" Was the reply, though the voice that spoke it was already lightly muffled and drowsy.

Francis' breaths were starting to even out, expression settling into that of rest.

Taking one last look at his lover, the Canadian slid the door shut, and whispered to Alfred, who was waiting outside in the hall after helping the Frenchman settle into his beddings:

"I think he fell asleep already."

"_Already_?" The American wore an expression of surprise as the two began to make their way back to the dining room, "Wow, he must be _really_ tired."

At that, Matthew wrung his fingers together, nibbling on his lips with a small frown.

"…Is it…Is it normal…eh…?" He stole a few glances at Alfred, who looked confused at first; "I-I mean…for a mild concussion?"

"Oh," The taller blonde scratched the back of his head absentmindedly, wearing a thoughtful look, "…Well…I'm no medical expert, but if they'd let him out of the hospital without that much of a fight then his concussion's probably not too bad, yeah? I'm more worried about his possession at the mansion."

"What do you mean?" The Canadian asked, voice barely above a whisper but tight-strung.

"It's just weird; I mean…" Alfred wore an equally perplexed expression, "…Usually, say, if I get possessed, that means the spirit wanted to possess me, yeah?" He made a small hand gesture as they rounded a corner; "And if I were to touch you, then chances are it'd transfer over and you'd become possessed. But that's not what happened on that night." He paused as they reached the door to the dining room, and said, before sliding the door open: "Kiku came in contact with the spirit, but he didn't become possessed, so what the hell happened with Francis? It was obviously not intentional since Francis kinda just popped outta nowhere, you know? And when he attacked you afterwards, nothing happened to you either. Well…not _nothing_, but you know what I mean…"

"Yeah…I know what you mean…" Matthew replied, nodding slowly, deep in thought.

The slightly older male blinked, watching the other man develop a small pout of misery and helplessness. Sighing and putting on an encouraging smile, he patted the strawberry blond head.

"Don't worry, Mattie," He said, giving a firm nod, eyes shinning with confidence and certainty; "We'll figure it out!"

The door slid open, and the three Asians inside watched with curiosity as the two blondes shared a warm smile and settled down into their seats.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translation: **Again, if wrong, please correct! :D

_Réveilles-toi, s'il te plaît…C'est moi, ton Fran__c__is._ – Wake up, please…It's me, your Francis.

_Oh Matthieu, s'il te plaît…Ouvre tes yeux, mon amour…Souris pour moi._ – Oh Matthieu, please…Open your eyes, my love…Smile for me.

…_Je t'aime…mon coeur……Je t'aime tellement._ – …I love you…my heart……I love you so much.

_Non!_ _Matthieu! Arrête!_ _Ce n'est pas vrai!_ – No! Matthieu! Stop! It's not true!

_je veux un baiser_ – I want a kiss

BIG THANKS to _radioactive edelweiss_, _musicalsarelife_, and _Capitain Pickle _for the French help! I'm learning so many new things! 8D

**Ending Notes:** I'd say something smart-ass here in spirit of April Fool's day but…I'm really not all that smart-ass so…

Hope you had a happy April Fool's!

Though…I think the majority of this chapter didn't really fit the spirit of this holiday…XD

Anyways…Oh man…the scene at the hospital where Mattie's freaking out took so much to write that it was like a friggin' _marathon_. I even forgot to eat while writing it! Not a very smart idea…and again, not a smart-ass. –points to self– I highly recommend having some food lying around while you're writing; always good to have some munchies, yeah?

But then again…_maybe_…I'm just…_kinda_…proud…of that Mattie freaking out part…I guess…? …A little bit…? –hides in a crate of tomatoes– ;v;

Now, before you barbeque me for (possibly) butchering the medical aspects of a mild concussion with flying colours (inaccuracies), please just pretend that they're not there! _ I can't have Francis too far gone 'cause I need him at least alive enough to be out and about for things to move along, or else the case would REALLY hit a complete hiatus and…well…you guys don't want that right? …Right…? …'Cause if y'all don't mind I can totally—

…Nah I'm just playing with ya~ –is smacked–

The team's gonna rest a bit with the case in Japan and doing a bit more of investigating before more things happen and spiral outta control. _That_ is to leave room for Arthur's big, anticipated ritual! (Which is coming up soon in their time frame but a chapter or two away in our time frame I'm afraid XD) I must admit, I'm really looking forward to it 'cause I really think y'all will like it! (Or at least I hope) My fingers are itching to type, but there must be other things first. :D

Weeeelllll, in true JPIA-long-ass-ending-note fashion, I will give some revelations about the next chapter! –Cues in catchy but mildly annoying music–

The next installment of _Jone's Paranormal Investigation Agency_ will be abooooooout…

–Drum rooooooooolllllll–

…Readyyyyyy?

Dun dun DUN—!

_Francis' past!_

8DDD

At last we will get an insight to what happened to our darling Frenchman when he was a child! …And some more. Feel free to take a guess! I'm really curious as to what you guys come up with! –dances happily–

I'm really sorry that this chapter isn't as long as its previous counterparts. It's just that I thought this cropping scheme would work better for future chapters, and I hope the contents made the wait worthwhile! If not…I'm so sorry! I really am! ;_;

Anyways, before I go and end this insanely long ending note, **I would like to**, once again, **thank everyone for your wonderful support!** All your reviews, favourites, subscriptions, and kindness mean so much to me, and I sincerely appreciate every little thing you've done for me out of the wonderfulness of your sparkly, beautiful hearts!

Y'ALL ARE THE BESTEST—! :D

I'm so sorry I'm so late on answering reviews again! X_X I'm gonna try my best to answer everyone's right away! Please forgive me! –begs for forgiveness with chocolate and sunflowers–

I LOVE YOU—! –many hearts–

_Oooonly yoooouuuuuuu~~~~ Can maaake this wooorld seem briiiiiiight~~_


	29. CASE3: H E, Francis

**Author's Notes: IMPORTANT! MUST READ!**

Oh man, I've been wondering about how to say this to all of you in a less alarming manner, but since I fail in that department, I guess I'll just have to go straight to the point. ;_;

Well…in short, I have to move to stay with my aunt due to some troubles back home, and on top of _that_, there's something wrong with my computer. –is on friend's computer atm–

I was planning on putting a temporary hiatus on this story until I sort things out with the moving and stuff, and figure out how long I'm gonna be staying at my aunt's, but since my computer is, well, no longer with me, even if (by some odd chance) things resolve quickly, I won't be able to do much, especially since my aunt's place is pretty far from where most of my friends and school are so I can't even use theirs.

What that also means is that, being further away, I'll have even less time to work on anything due to the time it takes for commuting there and back.

…Poo…;_______;

However, I'm gonna try to see if I can still work on this story going back to the old fashion way of writing in a notebook, but I really can't promise anything 'cause all my files are on my computer, and I don't have much internet time to check on things (the only thing I can do is leech off on my aunt's computer for internet, which she needs for work), and I REALLY don't wanna make quality sacrifices 'cause it'll probably piss y'all off even more than not updating, so…AAARRRRGGHH—AKJSDLKAJEFKWAEIORASK—……

BUT if by some mere stroke of luck I DO manage to get some things down, my friend volunteered to type it down and post it for me, so cross your fingers! –hearts–

I'm extremely sorry for making you guys wait for I-don't-even-know-how-long, BUT! I am definitely keeping this story alive because I've never worked on anything this long before and I plan to, with all my heart, keep it going and persevere. **Thank you**, everyone who's ever reviewed, favourited, helped me with French/Russian, subscribed, and read this story, **so, SO much 'cause all of you cheer me up more than you can imagine, and have made me feel so much more accomplished than I really am.**

I really love you guys! –is in sappy mode– ;________;

But there's still good news amongst all this bad! ;)

Luckily enough, I printed most of this chapter out on paper 'cause I wanted to work on it during lunch time (and boring classes –cough, cough–), so I'm still able to present you with this update! :D Hurray—!

Please enjoy, my darlings!

Remember who loves you~~ –points to self–

And also remember, YOU WILL DEFINITELY BE HEARING FROM ME AGAIN! :D

Ok, now I shut up to give you the chapter. ;p

–Many hearts–

Oh by the way, I have NOT forgotten about the 500-reviews thanks special! And, erm, if I happened to forget about mentioning it: YES! There IS a 500-reviews thanks special! XD

…Though it might end up being some-other-number-reviews thanks special depending on when I'm able to return…But I'll definitely have it ready! And I think y'all will like it, or at least I hope. ;)

Anyways, I'm really shutting up now.

Happy reading! : )

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

"So, what'd we miss?"

Alfred plopped down onto his cushion, and plucked a sushi from one of the plates, dropping it into his mouth.

"We were just discussing why the records are missing, aru," Yao explained, "And we came to the conclusion that they must've been destroyed for prevention purposes, like the enchantment placed over the shrine grounds that was stopping Francis from seeing too much."

"Awww, man! So what are we gonna do?" The American pouted.

"Forgive me for interrupting," Kiku joined the conversation, leaning forward a little and eyes catching Matthew's, "I have been wondering, Matthew-san, what were you doing exactly at the mansion two nights ago?"

All eyes turned to the Canadian, who became instantly embarrassed and uncomfortable.

"…I—I was…I was…" Looking down at his fidgeting hands in his lap, he said in a small voice: "…Before that…I should apologize to all of you, eh…?" He bit his lips; "I'm-I'm sorry for my impulsive actions…I promise—I _really_ promise this time, that I won't do it again…"

"No worries, Mattie," Alfred was quick to chirp up, giving a wave, "We all got away in the end alive; that's all that matters now." He had a large grin on his face; thankfully he swallowed his mouthful of food before giving it.

"You know we can't blame you, aru," Yao wore a comforting smile.

"All of you have risked your lives to solve this case; to that I, as with the rest of my family, am eternally grateful for, so how can I place blame on anyone?" Kiku, with a respectable bow, was the next to speak; "Please accept my most humble of thanks, even more so for the fact that you have decided to continue with the investigations after all that's happened." Straightening up from the bow, Kiku gave Matthew a kind smile. "There is nothing to forgive, Matthew-san."

Matthew immediately flushed red.

"-I-I—That's—I'm—I don't deserve—" Flustered, he stuttered.

"Awwwwwwww~~ I never thought you had it in ya t'be so sweet!" Alfred, with a toothy grin, pulled the Japanese man beside him into a half hug, wrapping an arm tightly around the slimmer one's shoulders. Kiku stiffened, eyes growing round, and red stained his pale cheeks.

"A-Alfred-san—"

"But you know," The forward American leaned back a little, though his arm remained where it was, "If you _really_ wanna thank us, you should get us a van!"

The shorter man blinked in confusion amongst general discomfort at how his personal space was being invaded; "…A-A van…?"

"Alfred, aru!" Yao face-palmed, "I _told_ you—there's more than one "Honda" in Japan, aru!"

But the excited blonde didn't hear him, and chattered on:

"Yeah! I mean, it's probably not gonna be hard for you, right? You can just sneak one out from the factory or whatever and ship it to America, yeah? Or, _even better!_ Just gimme a document or something so we can just pick one right up from a branch in New York when we get back!"

It didn't take Kiku long to pick up the misunderstanding, and, hiding chuckles, he gave a quick nod; "I will see what I can do."

"Kiku!" Yao huffed, "Don't encourage him!"

Alfred made a face and stuck his tongue out cheekily at the Chinese man, who stilled in disbelieving shock, mouth hanging open and an eyebrow jerking.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but…" Mei cut in tentatively, "…Shouldn't we get back on track?"

The four men in the room blinked, sheepishly embarrassed, and laughed before settling back to what they were talking about before.

Alfred cleared his throat, and motioned towards Matthew; "So uh…Mattie, what _were_ you doing at the mansion?"

The Canadian, rubbing his nose, starting explaining in a soft voice: "Well, I—I had a dream…" Noting everyone looking at him expectantly, he tried hard to remember all the details; "I was…in the well at the mansion, and I heard construction going on around me. I think I was—I think I was in the spirit's memories, or-or something like that…

"There was something covering the mouth of the well; that was what kept the spirit inside, but it got moved by the construction workers. I remember thinking that, as the spirit, how I was finally freed, which was when I woke up and realized that _that_ was probably what released the spirit. I thought I probably should let you guys know about it right away and—well…you know the rest, eh…?" His voice faded off as he looked back and forth between the faces in front of him.

"So if we find that well cover, we'd be able to know what we're dealing with?" Alfred asked the question in everyone's mind.

"We should be able to find out what enchantment was used at least," Yao's eyes held a thoughtful look; "After Francis gets better, he should give the well a look, aru; he might be able to get some information." When a murmur of agreement replied to his suggestion, he turned to Matthew once more; "Did you notice anything else significant?"

"Not anything we don't already know I'm afraid…" The Canadian furrowed his eyebrows in deep concentration; "He was…a soldier of some sort for sure, from quite a long time ago too judging by how long he'd waited, sealed inside the well; he can't go under the sun…and he believes that there's an invasion…like…in wars, you know." He scratched the back of his head. "I—I actually had another dream before this one…I didn't think it was important at the time but…I guess it _was_ important…" Giving a weak laugh, he quickly continued:

"Something that I remember from the first dream is that he believes that he was betrayed by people who he trusted, though I'm not sure who they were…"

"So…He's a soldier who died in a war or something?" Alfred asked, popping another sushi into his mouth.

"I doubt he was only a soldier," Kiku spoke up, voice pensive and even; "From his attire, I am certain that he was of a high standing. As deteriorated and muddy his clothing and armour were, I could see much attention to details; they were definitely very carefully made."

"So…A _general_ who died in a war?" Alfred offered again helpfully, chewing a mouthful.

"Usually hauntings involving wars do not have such…malevolent intentions though…" Yao shook his head slightly; "Usually the place haunted simply replays events over and over again, and the spirits are usually in a trance-like state, fighting each other in a war never-ending until they are cleansed and guided to move on. But that's not what we have on our hands." He made small gestures as he sorted through what they know so far:

"There's only one spirit, and many orbs which run away as soon as he gets near…there's also a complicated, powerful enchantment cast over the grounds with very careful precautions to keep the spirit from running rampant. The priest Francis saw would not waste so much energy doing something like that if it were just a warrior who's lost on his way to the afterlife." Pausing, he uttered another thought: "And what about the well, aru? It has definite significance if Matthew keeps on having dreams about it."

"So it didn't die in a war…" Alfred concluded; "Then what's it doing wearing armour and holding a sword?"

"I…I don't know, aru…" Yao bit his lips, frowning in confusion.

A thoughtful silence settled in the room.

"…Um…" Matthew tentatively broke it, looking around to his team mates, "I think…I think I found the well cover on the night when I was there…"

Four pairs of eyes shot towards him, all wide with surprise.

"…Really?" Alfred sat up higher in his seat, expression the most dramatic.

"Yeah," The Canadian nodded, "I was trying to climb over the wall to get out of the mansion grounds…" At that he gave slightly embarrassed laughter, "So I was moving rocks to prop myself up, which was when I found this big stone slab shaped like a turtle. It looked about the right size for the well, so I thought—"

To his great shock, Yao was the one who made a loud exclaim of joy, dark eyes glittering along with a sharp gasp. The Chinese man grabbed onto his hands: "Matthew! That's great, aru! This is—This is an incredible find! Not only will we know what enchantment was used to keep the spirit sealed, we might be able to use the original lid to seal it away once again!"

The blonde blinked rapidly, unused to such a reaction from Yao.

_Alfred maybe…_

"Th-That's great indeed, eh!" He replied.

"We will go back to the mansion in the afternoon, and might even wrap up the case by tomorrow, aru!" Yao was, needless to say, relieved and excited that the case was finally moving along.

"Phew! _Finally_ some good news!" Alfred shook his head in almost disbelief, laughing a little.

"It truly is great news," Kiku smiled. A small shimmer appeared in his usually reserved, dark eyes as a little pink adorned his cheeks.

As happy as he was that everyone was happy, Matthew couldn't help but feel like this wasn't enough.

"I—I'm really glad that we're finally going somewhere too, eh?" He said, almost grimacing at how he was going to possibly break the good mood; "But…Just sealing it inside the well…that doesn't really solve the problem, does it…? I mean…That's what the priest did, right? And…well…look at where we are now…" He sunk deeper into his seats when everyone looked over at him, feeling horrible that he was the one to break it to them.

"That is true, aru," Yao seemed to have calmed down a little from his moment, blinking his dark eyes. However, he wasn't as down as the Canadian expected him to be: "That is true, but it's still a great way to temporarily keep things under control and give us more time." He smiled a little reassuringly at Matthew's still worried expression; "I believe there definitely is a right ritual to cleanse the mansion grounds, but we still need more information. This is a strange case, aru; we need to be very certain of the situation before we attempt an exorcism so people won't get hurt. On the meanwhile, sealing the spirit back into the well would be great to keep the supernatural occurrences at bay."

Nodding, the Canadian made a small hum of agreement.

It would at least keep things safe for the next little while.

Deciding that it was better to talk about things in more detail after they paid another visit to the mansion, the team settled into a light chat. Matthew was not entirely attentive to the conversation, though he kept a polite smile on his face and nodded every once in a while. His mind was preoccupied by thoughts about Francis.

_I hope he'll feel better soon…_

~o0o0o0o0o~

Francis rarely dreamt real dreams.

Most he encountered in slumber were hazy, flimsy visions of what his hands touched when he wore no gloves, or swirls of moving images telling of lives he'd seen because of his ability – those usually floated about at the back of his consciousness.

There was hardly anyone aside from perhaps Alfred and Ivan, who were with him during his worst times, that knew and understood the full extent of his power, which was more of an affliction than anything else. He remembered every single person he'd ever gotten in direct contact with, as well as what flashed in front of his eyes when he touched them. It was inevitable, and was as if he had people living inside his head, or rather, manifestations of them stuck in time at the exact moment his fingers brushed against theirs.

He trained himself religiously when he decided, after the death of his father, to learn how to properly control what he had always considered a curse, since physical intimacy is extremely important to him. At one point in his life, towards the end of his teenage years, he managed to achieve complete reign over his "gift", though, after a few years of abusing and exploiting it, had willingly let that control slip a little.

You'd be surprised at how much power you can gain over someone if you knew every one of their life experiences and how they affected them.

It became so simple, _too _simple, to take advantage of their weaknesses and render them completely helpless under his influence and actions.

While he was truly sorry for what he did, he doubted most forgave him, since he kicked them out of his life without much of a last glance and left them broken as soon as his interest in them waned. He didn't know what happened to them afterwards as, at that time, he never cared to check and make sure they were alright. After all, they had no value once he became tired of them.

It was hard to say whose damage was greater: theirs, or his.

They were used for his amusement to pass time when he was bored, and often had their hearts brutally slaughtered when they found out that all they ever loved was merely a mask he put on so he could charm them into bed and go along with whatever else he fancied to do.

He was stuck with an alarmingly large number of separate, distinctly unique identities not of his own, along with their entire life-stories, lingering about at the back of his head. It used to be downright horrible around the time when he fled Europe and followed Alfred to America; he was a total mess. It was easy now to distinguish his own identity so he could be his own person, but it took such a huge effort that, during the height of his manic episodes, he could feel his life draining and slipping away from between his fingers.

One reason for allowing his ability to partially dominate his life was to simply remind him to not do the same thing again.

It was a prison he willingly stepped into.

…

Francis rarely dreamt real dreams.

His own memories rarely resurfaced to give him such things, repressed as they were and locked away like the "others" inside his mind.

However, on that day as he fell asleep, eyes closing to his little Matthieu's warm, blue eyes, a rare occurrence happened.

He dreamt of someone he didn't think he could ever face again, as broken as their relationship was.

…

…His mother was beautiful.

With hair golden like the sun and eyes a deep, sapphire blue sparkling with love and full of life, she was passionately fond of flower dresses and the idea of falling in love.

A lot of aspects of his personality, as well as those in physical appearance, he'd inherited from her, though it was unclear whether his strange "talent" came from her or not.

He wasn't very healthy as a child, mostly due to his psychic ability giving him severe headaches and rendering him restless; his childhood was pretty much a big blur, but, oddly enough, one of his clearest memories of her came from that time, when he was sitting under the shade of a tree in their vast family garden, on a day like any other, doing nothing since he couldn't go to school.

Not that he'd want to anyways.

Teachers frowned down upon his existence and always seemed to wear distasteful glares whenever he came into view, while other children ridiculed him with malice that only kids with too many privileges and insanely rich parents could have.

They didn't like him, because they didn't find his mother beautiful.

And they had every right to, because his mother had barely passed the age of maturity when she married his father, who had already been one of the richest bachelors in all of Europe for over twenty years.

A year later, they brought him into the world.

Society does not treat their kind of relationships kindly, and the same hostility and scorn were also bestowed upon their son.

Everyone believed the girl only had her eyes set on the rich man's money despite of her claims of love.

On that particular day, as he was sitting under the cool shade of his favourite tree reading one of his favourite books, he saw his mother with his father.

She was pushing the much older, sickly man around in a wheelchair, admiring the rose bushes.

Old man Bonnefoy had fallen ill but a few years into his marriage with his young wife, which caused quite an outburst of controversy since most suspected that she had poisoned him and wanted to get rid of him so she could have the wealth all to herself, being secured of her position by their legitimate child together.

As hard as the couple tried to keep young Francis sheltered, it simply did not work.

The young boy was exceptionally smart, maybe too smart for his own good, and pieced everything together easily.

Shame was not an emotion any child his age should feel on a frequent basis, neither was the wish that he could end this misery called life he did not choose to live.

On that particular day, his mother wore one of her prettiest flower dresses with a pretty little hat. Her shimmering hair, loosely tied back by pretty ribbons, was in neat curls that framed her heart-shaped face flatteringly, and she wore pinked lipstick.

It wasn't often old man Bonnefoy felt that he had enough strength in his bones to be outside, so it was understandable for her to want to look her best.

On that particular day, his father had smiled up at her and raised a shaky hand, reaching to hold hers. His thumb brushed against her pale, silky skin, eyes tender with affection and lips pulled upwards by a loving smile.

On that particular day, she cut a rose fresh from its bush, tucking it into the ribbons in her hair, and asked her husband how she looked with a shy, but equally as loving smile.

On that particular day, his father, as he opened his mouth to answer, was suddenly overcome by a frenzied coughing fit, and vomited out blood.

The blood stained her pretty flower dress, and never before had young Francis seen such an ugly, frightening expression appear on her beautiful face as a scream tore from her lips.

…

Francis rarely dreamt real dreams.

But, he didn't know why, on that particular day in Japan, he dreamt of his mother.

...

"_My beautiful boy!"_

_She lifted him up high in the air, a bright smile on her face, and he laughed, giggles crisp and fresh like spring leaves as she swirled on her feet._

_They both turned in circles, waltzing across the floor of the vast dining hall._

...

"_Why do they hate me, mama…? Why do they hate me? What have I done?" He cried out, tears making big wet stains on her sleeping gown._

"_I'm sorry," Her voice held sobs, "I'm sorry that I won't ever regret marrying your father." She said when he asked her why they had to suffer over something they shouldn't have to suffer for._

...

"_Please, Francis, let me hold you…"_

_He turned away from the tall window, and his favourite book, telling of love and happily ever after, fell to the floor with a dull "thud" from his limp fingers._

_Tears shone under the pale moonlight on her cheeks as she held her arms open towards him, knelt down by his father's deathbed._

_Her hair was messy; loose curls clung to her face where they stuck by moisture._

_There was blood on her white dress, some old and brown, some fresh and red._

_He couldn't move._

_He only stared, because, ever since the beginning, he knew she had always chosen his father over him._

…_Chosen his father…his now dead father…over him…_

...

"_Francis, don't leave me too…" Her eyes held tears, as always, from behind her dark veil. It was strange seeing her like this, so odd and forlorn in an ensemble of black even though it had been years since she started wearing the colour. Pale blue orbs gazed into his, softly pleading, but he, barely a teen, gazed back evenly, expression surprisingly devoid of emotions, before turning away and climbing into the limo._

_He told himself that he didn't hear her weep as more grief overcame her and made her skeleton of a frame shake like a dry, thin leaf in winter._

_He told himself that he didn't see her completely collapse by the door to the mansion he never called home, thin hands covering her once beautiful face as more tears tormented her once bright eyes._

_He left the Bonnefoy estates for the first time since his father's death, to not return for years to come._

...

"…_Francis, is it really you…?" He was taller than her by then, but he couldn't be entirely sure, because her back was bent at a painful angle, forcing her torso to curl into itself._

_Blue eyes peered up into his own, the two pairs so similar yet so different._

_He noticed with a startle at how much the sparkle he remembered seeing as a child in those eyes had dimmed. It was almost nonexistent._

_There were many wrinkles on her face; they were very faint, almost unseen, but to him, they were as if deep creases etched into stone._

_He could see every one of them, and they were revolting._

_He had become as much of a selfish, self-centered, narcissistic, vain bastard a man could be._

_Wearing only clothes with price tags higher than a month's income of a regular salary man, he held back a disgusted grimace only because it was unattractive._

_With an exaggerated flare of a movement, flinging perfectly waved blond hair as if strands of pure, golden silk in the air, he told her a brief overview of how he'd been living for the past few years away from home, how well he was doing, and how much he was enjoying his life to its utmost fullest. He never allowed her any room for questions or time between his sentences to beg him to stay with her at home._

_He left her nothing but a stack of skin products, because to be his mother – he told her with a sickeningly sweet smile on his beautiful features that left countless enslaved under his porcelain charm, in a voice dripping with honey and poison – he couldn't have her walking around looking like a corpse with a rotten apple for a face._

_As he sauntered away, basking in his own wit and dark humour, he heard her angry shout amongst the eruptive sounds of all the bottles and cans of expensive cream and lotion being thrown off the table and to the ground, followed by a scream of anguished fury claiming him to be no son of hers._

_He had laughed._

...

_It was, again, years later that he next saw her, and it was only because he wanted to, again, show her just how well-off he was._

"_Congratulations." She had only said, her voice was as emotionless and nonchalant as it could be._

_She didn't even turn to face him, watering the rose bushes without a care in the world and wearing a flower dress she hadn't worn for years. She actually looked much younger than the last time he saw her, and he wondered if she picked up the bottles and cans of expensive cream and lotion she shoved to the floor after he had left._

_His acceptance letter to __one of the most prestigious universities in the world lay discarded on the muddy ground, as was his heart._

_He still hadn't realized his mistake, and how much he'd hurt her for someone as sweet as her to exhibit such painful indifference to her own son._

_He snatched up his acceptance letter, gloves of the richest silk catching muddy stains, lips pressed together tightly and eyes flashing angrily._

_He didn't say any goodbyes as he walked away, leaving her to her roses._

_He thought he saw the corners of her lips quirking upwards into a condescending, haughty smirk, though in truth, they quivered with suppressed sadness as her eyes followed his form, growing smaller and smaller, until he disappeared into his expensive car._

...

_He honestly didn't expect her to still be there when he stumbled in through the door, another number of years later, completely drenched from head to toe by a violent thunderstorm uncharacteristic of the region the Bonnefoy estates was in. She didn't say anything, as if the hollow emptiness of the mansion had stolen all worldly attachments from her. Her face was pale as marble, almost completely white like the fancy sleeping gown she wore hidden under a wine-coloured sleeping robe._

_Loneliness had been her companion for too long, and she had learnt to accept it._

_She almost felt annoyed that her lonesome life was disrupted by his appearance, though none of that showed on her face or in her shiny, pale eyes._

_He held onto her arms, and fell to his knees. Clutching her thin limbs, he cried, burying his head against her cool body and tears staining her sleeping gown as he had done so many years ago when he was a child._

_But she seemed to be unable to understand why he had returned, why he was bothering to visit when he didn't have anything to boast about._

…_Even after he said that he was leaving for America for good and never coming back._

"_But Francis," She finally spoke after his wailing cries calmed down to raspy, silent sobs, expression genuinely confused, "…This hasn't been your home for years."_

_He didn't know why he was so stunned, why the statement was like a malicious stab to the chest, looking at her as if she had just slapped him._

_Because…_

…_Wasn't it… true…?_

_He had never considered the massive mansion to be his home, so why did he come back?_

_Why did he keep coming back?_

_He couldn't answer, hands slowly unraveling around her arms, fingers unclenching and losing their desperate strength._

…_And why did she stay there?_

_Why did she keep on staying there?_

_His hands dropped to the cold floor, and he remained kneeling, staring forward blankly as tears slowly slid down his cheeks like pearls without a string._

…_Why did it seem as though…she was waiting for someone…?_

…

~o0o~

"…Francis…"

~o0o~

_He handed his passport and boarding pass to the pretty flight attendant at the gate desk, vaguely aware of Alfred chattering excitedly about America and Ivan, not quite listening and nuzzling into his scarf, standing beside him, moments before finally stepping onto the plane._

_He was escaping…He was finally escaping._

~o0o~

"…Francis…?"

~o0o~

_But as he walked into the passenger boarding bridge, he felt his feet slow down to a halt. His friends kept going onwards, unaware that he had stopped. He felt something akin to intuition willing him to turn around for a last glance at the airport, and he could do nothing but comply._

_Compelled by the urge, he turned. And as he took a final look of the last of his home he would closely see, he suddenly thought he saw a familiar shimmer of golden locks of hair._

_His eyes widened._

_It couldn't be…!_

"…_Francis?" He heard Alfred call, but it was merely a buzz at the back of his head._

_He tried to catch it again, to see the familiar sight once more._

"_Francis?"_

~o0o~

"-Francis—"

~o0o~

"_-You alright?"_

_But, as much as he tried, he couldn't catch another glimpse of it as people behind him pushed him to continue walking forward and into the cabin of the airplane._

_He could do nothing but obey._

_He was too tired and weak to fight anything._

~o0o~

"I brought—"

~o0o~

_It was probably his imagination._

…_It couldn't possibly be anything but his imagination…_

~o0o~

"-your lunch, eh?"

…

"…Francis?"

There was a gentle nudge on his shoulder, and he was brought back to awareness.

The dream left him, dissipating like a puff of smoke, and he opened his eyes.

Matthew's face hovered above his, blue eyes bright and clear, but worried, accentuated by a slight furrow of his eyebrows. At the corners of his eyes, he could see a tray of food set down beside the Canadian.

He gave a small smile; "_Bonjour._"

"_Bonjour_," His little Matthieu smiled back, worry lessening. He leaned down further, and gave a small peck on the lips to the one lying down. "How are you feeling, eh?"

Francis didn't reply right away. He took a moment, and noticed that the world didn't swirl anymore.

"I am feeling wonderful, Matthieu…much better now that you are here." His voice was a soft whisper as he turned his eyes back to meet the other blonde's. The tone of his voice was gentle, earnest; his eyes shimmered in a lazy manner, much more focused. He reached up with one of his hands, and lightly brushed away a few fallen strands of soft hair from the younger male's face, before cupping it loosely around his warm cheek.

"I feel as though I haven't seen you for a very long time, _mon petit chéri_…"

Matthew lifted a hand, and wrapped it around his; it was warm, and soft.

"…_Je t'aime tant, Matthieu_…"

His smile did not drop, but it left his slowly eyes.

"…What am I going to do without you…?"

A confused, concerned expression appeared on Matthew's face; blinking, he slowly shook his head.

"You…You are never going to be without me, Francis," He said. Trying to ease the saddening atmosphere, he gave a small wink along with a cheerful, teasing grin that lifted the corners of his lips; "I'm afraid you're going to be stuck with me for the next little while." He nuzzled into Francis' hand, and could almost imagine that no fabrics came between his cheeks and the palm.

"…I would love to be stuck with you _forever_…" The Frenchman murmured pensively, eyes never dropping its rather intense gaze.

Matthew, eyes growing slightly wider, felt his cheeks grow hot, and wondered if the other man could feel it. His heart fluttered; he could hear it beating, but he didn't really mind, because he thought that he rather liked the sound if it were Francis making it skip like that.

"F-Francis—"

Francis' eyes suddenly shifted, and they rested on a place a little lower than his face.

At the Frenchman's changing expression – darkening with worry and dropping from a more or less peaceful one – it didn't take him long to figure out just what it was that the older male saw.

With his other available hand, Matthew hastily tried to do up the last button of his shirt, one that was left undone, exposing parts of his neck.

"_Non, mon ange…_"

However, a whisper stopped him.

He didn't move at first, hesitant, but gradually, his fingers unwrapped around the collars. The hand lowered, little by little, before returning to its previous spot, limp and unmoving.

Francis' hand gave a small jerk, and, slowly and gently, began to move downwards from the Canadian's cheek. Brushing aside fabrics hindering the full view of his little Matthieu's beautiful, graceful neck, he took a look, and couldn't stop a small, sharp gasp from leaving his lips.

His perfectly arched eyebrows furrowed, and tilted upwards, creating creases between them, but he didn't notice, because what he saw, what was supposed to be creamy, soft skin was now blemished by bruises, and it was more than enough to make him forget about not making unpleasant expressions.

It wasn't the first time he saw them of course; he'd known about them since at the hospital, but still, they made his heart ache.

He hadn't had the chance to ask about them, but he couldn't hold his questions in any longer.

"…What happened, Matthieu?"

Matthew looked down at the Frenchman, whose attention was still on the darkened marks around his neck, which were vaguely reminiscent of strong fingers mercilessly squeezing around his neck. The same fingers that caused them were currently tracing them, touch so light that they only left slight tickling sensations.

Matthew bit his lips, and considered his options.

He could tell Francis what happened, which would no doubt make him upset and overwrought with guilt, or he could lie about it and avoid all of that, especially since he didn't have to worry about Alfred or the others telling, since no one seemed to be keen on dwelling on what happened on that night at the mansion.

Francis' hand was dropping bit by bit away from the bruises; it was then Matthew noticed that he never raised his eyes so they could look at each other, and that his mouth was firmly shut, jaws biting and muscles tense.

It was then that it occurred to the Canadian that perhaps his lover already knew, or had a good guess, and that the only purpose behind his question of "what happened" was to confirm that suspicion.

Matthew looked down.

There was no point in either of the options he was considering moments before.

A heavy silence settled, hanging in the air between them. It felt strange, and foreign, since this was something completely new.

…This kind of silence had never made its way known between them before.

"…Matthieu," Francis began, eyes still not meeting his lover's; "Matthieu, I—"

"-No, Francis," Matthew gave his head a small, curt shake; "I know what you want to say, but please don't say it, because it's not true."

The longer-haired blonde tried to protest, eyes flickering, but firm stare on his caretaker's face stopped him.

"…It's not true…" The younger man's voice was barely a breath, dissipating in the air before it even fully formed. "It's not true…Because—…"

Matthew bit his lips to cut off his incoming sentences.

…_Because it wasn't your fault at all._

The bruises itched, and he plastered on a small, strained smile.

…_Because it was my fault…_

_It was mine..._

…_Everything that happened on that night was due to my carelessness._

Francis' hand, the one that was, several moments before, wrapped around his cheek, was almost completely lowered, but he reached forward and caught it before it could fall on top of the comforter. Guiding it upwards, he didn't stop until he could once again nuzzle his cheek against its palm.

"Matthieu—" The Frenchman was still frowning slightly, not ready to let this topic rest, but something else stopped him.

Turning his head, Matthew imitated what he often did to him, and gave the inside of his gloved hand a firm peck.

It was reassuring, and infinitely sweet. However, as loving a gesture as it was, Francis couldn't help but feel that there was an obvious note of finality alongside it.

Why didn't his little Matthieu allow him to apologize?

Why was his little Matthieu avoiding this subject? Or running away from it even?

He wanted to press on, to at least make the Canadian understand that he needed to make it up to him. Because there was nothing else he could do but apologize for what happened that led to the existence of those hideous bruises that had no business being on his lover's skin.

But something stopped him, because something wasn't right.

He couldn't figure out what it was, but it was as if…it was as if his little Matthieu didn't want to acknowledge their existence at all, and that if no words were ever mentioned again about them, whatever thoughts or emotional side effects caused by how they came to be will fade away with them.

Looking into his little Matthieu's eyes, memories from what happened back at the hospital resurfaced. A lot of the things that his young lover said troubled him greatly, or at least as much as his current physical condition allowed.

"_Just like Papa! J-Just like Papa—!"_

Why did his little Matthieu say that…?

What did they mean?

Francis opened his mouth, words of inquiry seconds from leaving his lips, but Matthew must've caught onto the look, for he immediately interrupted them.

"…Well…You should eat your lunch before it gets cold, eh?" Dropping the gloved hand, he reached over to help him sit up.

Francis blinked, and for long moments, only stared.

His questions were dangling on the edge with equal chances of falling to either side of the fence.

In the end, he muffled a sigh, and decided to drop the subject.

He moved his hand, and held onto the smaller one offering help.

Surprisingly, it turned out that help really wasn't needed after all – he wobbled a little, but managed to push himself upright quite easily, especially compared to how he was a few hours ago.

There was only one bowl of noodles on the tray. Francis gave his hair a comb with his fingers, and quirked his head to the side; "Have you eaten already, _mon amour_?"

Matthew nodded, carefully taking the tray and giving it to him as he spoke a "_Merci_".

"We had something different, but the head cook said this will be better for you, something about it being milder or something…" The Canadian trailed off, nodding at the thanks; "Be careful; the lady that gave it to me said it's still hot."

The Frenchman nodded, and placed the tray on top of a pillow he put on his lap for insulation, also propping the bowl higher. Taking a spoonful of the soup, he tentatively took a small sip.

"_Hmmmmm…_" The hum was soft, and a low mumble; "It is lovely, but she is right – it burned my tongue a little." He gave a small chuckle.

The strawberry blond head tilted up with a sharp jerk as something about its owner's demeanor changed.

"Do you want me to blow it?"

Matthew's suddenly bright, round eyes sparkled as he offered helpfully, leaning forward a little. All of the previous gloom forgotten, he remembered that from his childhood of watching TV shows, mothers always blew on the soup before giving it to their children to eat if it was hot.

He also remembered blowing his own soup for himself and pretending that he was his own mother.

He very much liked blowing soup; it made him feel important somehow, and very accomplished.

Francis looked surprised, still and looking back at him with lips very slightly apart. They stared at each other for a few silent moments, and the Canadian started to feel his cheeks flush darker by each and every one of them.

"S-Sorry," He sat back and lowered his head, embarrassed, "That was—That was a strange thing to say, wasn't it…?" He gave a weak huffed laugh.

"_Non; non, pas du tout,_" The Frenchman shook his head; "I—I just…have never—…What I mean to say, Matthieu, is that no one…no one really…has ever blown my soup for me." With a habitual swirl of his wrist, he tucked his hair behind one of his ears, and looked rather sheepish.

"…Really?" It was Matthew's turn to look surprised, head tilting up; "_No one?_"

Another shake of head answered.

"Not even your mom when you were sick?" The strawberry blonde looked unconvinced, "You know, when you were a child?"

There was a pause as something the Canadian couldn't quite decipher flashed across the ocean blue eyes gazing into his. But it was too quick, and was gone before he could take a second look at it.

"…I suppose _ma mère_ does not blow." Francis chuckled, amused and a little in disbelief at the rather strange topic of their conversation, though he did nothing to stop it from going further.

Here they were, two grown men, talking about soup blowing…

His little Matthieu is just full of cute little quirks!

"Now, that's not right, eh!" Matthew pursed his lips and huffed, "_Everyone_ should get their soup blown at least once in their lives!" He didn't know where that came from, but it left his lips before he could stop it.

Ocean blue eyes grew rounder; "…Is that so…?" Amusement began to make its way known in Francis' voice.

"_Oui!_" The strawberry blonde nodded enthusiastically, the wayward curl on the top of his head bobbing up and down. "Do you want me to blow it for you then?"

"…Oh," Francis gave a few blinks, "_Alors_…_certainement! _Please, by all means _mon petit_, blow away!" Chuckling more, he waved at the bowl of steaming noodles with a "go ahead" gesture.

"Great!" Matthew took the tray along with the pillow, and set them down on his own lap after crossing his legs. "I will have you know-" Scooping up a spoonful and looking up at the taller man, a proud smile appeared on his face, "-that I am a very good blower!"

There was a flicker in Francis' eyes as an awfully pleased and tickled smirk began to leer across his face; "…_Ah oui~~?_" Voice too sensuous for talking about blowing soup, he gave a deep hum, the sound resonating inside his chest in a sensual rumble. "Perhaps I should ask you to _blow_ for me more often."

The Canadian, holding the spoon close to his lips with one hand, abruptly stopped in his careful blowing and met the Frenchman's glittering eyes with a stare.

"…I know what you're thinking about Francis." His little Matthieu said in a tone frighteningly similar to a certain British man's, and Francis laughed.

"_Oh Matthieu! Tu es très mignon, mon petit chaton!_"

Matthew's face quickly grew as red as a tomato as he pouted, silencing the laughing Frenchman by sticking the spoon into the opened mouth. The older male spluttered a little, more surprised than startled, and complied in swallowing down the soup.

Here he was trying to make the situation endearing, and the other man just _had_ to go about his merry French way and drop little suggestive comments.

"Somehow I think you're going to be _just_ fine, eh."

When Francis started chuckling again, he stuck another spoonful of soup into his mouth.

~o0o0o0o0o~

After much soup-blowing and trying to eat slippery noodles with very mediocre chopstick skills as fast as possible, Francis, with slower steps than usual but keeping upright by himself, joined the team in the dining room with Matthew.

"Francis!" Alfred greeted with a big wave though they were only a few steps away, "You're better now!"

"_Oui_," The Frenchman shook his head a little and chuckled at the enthusiastic greeting, "_Mon petit Matthieu_ told me that you need my service this afternoon, so I thought I should get out of bed to share my beautiful presence with you." With an exaggerated flip of his silky, golden hair, he successfully distracted the others in the room with his dazzling antics from noticing his breath of relief as he sat down.

He was still tired. His limbs felt heavy, and his mind was still a bit fuzzy. However, he knew that if he were to do anything for the day, it was to go back to the mansion with his team and check out this stone turtle his little Matthieu found.

"You shouldn't push yourself, aru," Yao seemed to have caught his discreet breath of relief.

"Yeah, I mean, you looked pretty out of it in the morning." Alfred gave a small frown, starting to worry as well.

"If I don't push myself, we won't be able to move on in the case;" He gave a reassuring smile, glad to have good friends; "I am touched by your concern, _mes amis_, and I thank you sincerely, but I think I can afford a small trip to the mansion without falling over. Besides, if I do, I have _mon petit Matthieu_'s arms to catch me, so it wouldn't be all that bad~" He gave a quick wink to the Canadian beside him, who mumbled a "Don't drag me into this, eh…" but reached over, slender fingers lacing around his.

"Yeah, that's true." Alfred gave a curt nod. Shooting up rather suddenly and startling some, he punched in the air with a tight fist and announced:

"Al_right_! It's about time we put a stop to this evil in the name of justice and all that's good in the world!" Striking what he thought was a heroic pose, he was oblivious to the muffled laughter of amusement from his audience and Yao's humoured shake of head; "I say we start heading over now so we'd have plenty of time. Who's with me?" With a bright grin, he looked over his team, the hand of his uninjured arm high in the air.

"Me!" Matthew, just to humour the American, raised his hand as if in school and called out excitedly.

"Awesome spirit, Mattie!" The standing blonde gave a thumb-up towards him.

The next person to raise their hand was Kiku, who spoke much more calmly; "I agree with you, Alfred-san."

"'Course you do!" Alfred spoke confidently but appreciatively, the big grin brightening even more on his face, if that were possible.

In disbelief that he was actually doing this, Francis held up a hand as well.

"I can't believe we're doing this, aru…" Yao voiced his exact thought, putting his hand in the air after him.

There was a silence, and Mei, jumping a little, suddenly realized that Alfred was looking expectantly at her with wide eyes.

"…B-But I—I'm not really a part of the team…" Cheeks tinting pink, she said, voice soft and meek.

"Of course you are! You saved our asses two nights ago with getting the car and picking us up, you know," Gratitude made its way known in the American's vibrant blue eyes.

Mei stole a look at Kiku, who wore a faint, but warm smile for her. Nibbling her lips, she blinked her round, sparkling eyes, and shyly raised a pale, small hand in the air.

"Awesome!" The standing blonde cheered, very much pleased. "Now that we're all set," The hero swung his arm and pointed at the door with his index finger, "To the mansion we go!"

Matthew once again marveled at how the energetic man could make anything seem like they were going to the amusement park.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Yao sighed, a hand tracing the fading carved designs on the back of the stone slab turtle.

It took longer than usual to walk to the mansion, as Francis was still a little under the weather, though he insisted to not take the car since it'd weaken him even more. Once they got to the mansion, Matthew immediately guided the team around the building to the little pile of rocks he pushed over on that memorable night.

Everyone gathered around, all standing except for Francis, who took a seat on one of the rocks, watching Yao anxiously, especially since the Chinese man's hopeful expression fell.

"…It's not use, aru…this particular enchantment wasn't meant to last after the lid was lifted off from the well; the only thing this turtle can do now is to act as decoration."

Alfred groaned and gave a frustrated shout that sounded suspiciously like a string of curse words mixed together. He wore an angry pout, though he didn't seem to realize it, and kicked one of the rocks close to his feet.

The rather large rock did not move an inch while his toes burst into pain.

"_OW!_ –Ow ow ow ow!" Hopping on one foot, he hissed.

Everyone cast an eye towards the spectacle.

"Are you okay, aru?" Yao asked, slightly worried, though very much unimpressed.

"…Uhhh…yeah…" The American gingerly put his still throbbing foot back onto the ground and rubbed his nose, sheepish and embarrassed.

Once everyone's attention returned to the stone turtle, Kiku voiced out a suggestion:

"Since we have the original lid, would it be possible to recast the spell?"

"It'd be wonderful if it were, aru…" Yao stood up from his squatting position in front of the stone slab, "But once it's been used, we can't use it again. It's similar to how you can only strike and light a match once."

"Well, can't we just carve another turtle then?" Alfred said.

"It's not just carving it, aru," Yao turned and sat down on the turtle, patting its head absentmindedly, "You have to understand that _this_ was made probably hundreds of years ago, when there were many mountains completely unpopulated by humans, where spiritual beings roamed freely. Rocks, especially harvested from places like that, have certain powers, or are, for the lack of a better word, blessed, and alive. And we need to find one that's naturally weathered or eroded to approximately the right size for the well too, since cracking a big rock in half would no doubt kill its potential powers. It's getting harder and harder to find such rocks since there are pretty much human settlements everywhere nowadays, aru, and spiritual beings enjoy peace, so they hide away."

"Rocks can be alive?" Matthew looked amazed, listening intently and with fascination.

"Not alive as how we perceive it, aru," Yao explained patiently, "Many things that we might think are alive might be dead in the spiritual sense. Everything in nature has its power, such as trees. But not all trees have that power, such as ones dug up with their roots torn before getting moved to be planted somewhere else. That is not _natural_, aru, which is why many trees in cities do not have that power. Rocks are a bit different, but ones from sacred grounds or hidden forests _breathe_, and can talk to each other, aru."

"Ain't this _great_…we need a breathing rock…" Alfred grumbled under his breath.

"So I guess carving another turtle's pretty much out of the question, eh…" Matthew sighed; he was hoping that he at least got _something_ out of that frightful night, but it seemed that that hope was to be extinguished.

"But that doesn't mean we can't find anything out from this discovery," Yao, as if sensing the Canadian's fallen spirit, said quickly, "Though it might be hard to find rocks like this one, it isn't impossible. We should still keep it as an option, aru; I can probably figure out the exact ritual used on this stone lid after some careful research, but it might take some time since the carvings are faded."

There was a heavy silence while the other team members all stared at the stone turtle dejectedly.

"…Don't feel disheartened," The dark-haired man gave an encouraging smile, "It will be a hassle, but better than nothing, aru."

"Yao is right," Francis spoke with a slight nod, pushing himself onto surprisingly steady feet, and stood up; "We shouldn't be intimidated by obstacles, _oui_?" Gently tugging off his gloves, his ocean blue eyes held a look of concentration as they caught sight of the well, "Perhaps I should test my luck today."

Alfred perked up, and looked quite hopeful and optimistic despite of his earlier statement.

"You're right! We still have magic fingers!" He exclaimed and laughed a little in genuine happiness, reaching over and patting Francis on the back.

The Frenchman didn't look like he enjoyed being called "magic fingers" (not only was it ridiculous but also not very suitable for his ability), but chose not to comment, shaking his head exasperatedly, a faint smile on his lips.

The team moved on from the pile of rocks. Surrounding the well in a manner that was almost a little intimidating, they all peered down half expecting to see the spirit suspended in water inside it.

After a while of silent staring, Francis cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward as it felt like something a certain Brit would do, and took a look around.

Meeting many pairs of eyes, some nervous, some anticipating, he gave a small nod:

"I think it would be safer if you could each take a step back, in case what happened on the night at the mansion reoccurs," Talking about his unexpected possession, his voice was strangely casual as if speaking of the weather.

After many fleeting glances, one by one, the rest of the team stepped back – all except for one.

Matthew looked up, unmoving from his spot right beside him.

There was definitely apprehension, if not slight fear, at what could possibly happen swimming inside his little Matthieu's clear, watery blue eyes. But, at the same time, there was also determination and certainty.

The Canadian bit his lips; his fingers fiddled with his sleeves nervously. However, as he gazed up into ocean-blue eyes, he never felt surer in his life that right beside Francis was where he was supposed to be.

"I'll be right here, Francis," He gave a timid, but supportive smile, "I'm supposed to catch you if you fall, eh?"

The Frenchman's expression changed little; there was only a slight widening of the eyes.

His expression changed little, but many emotions burst forth with such an intensity in the shinning, ocean-blue orbs that they made the younger blonde's heart flutter.

After a few brief moments of seeing words unspoken, a warm smile of love blossomed onto Francis' handsome face. Eyes shimmering captivatingly, his gaze was gentle but beaming of affection.

Tilting his face slightly sideways, he leaned forward, and met Matthew's soft, pink lips in a firm kiss.

It was slightly awkward as he could not use his hand to pull the shorter man closer, but then again, it wasn't really needed, since his kiss was returned with equal passion.

And then they parted; it felt too fast.

Neither was satisfied, but there were things that must be done.

Giving one last thankful smile to his little Matthieu, Francis turned to face the well, and, without waiting for any longer, pressed a hand on top of the stone surface.

His eyes squeezed close as an eruption of screaming memories and past lives slammed into his mind; he would've cried out and shook like a thin leaf out of anguish if he hadn't been so accustomed to it.

He barely winced.

Flipping through events and episodes like pages of a book; he frowned in confusion.

He had thought that only the warrior spirit lived in the well, but there were a vast number of souls trapped inside.

It felt as though they were all somehow connected to a—to a—

…_Web…?_

He was closing in on the center; he could almost feel it if he could just delve a little deeper.

It was almost at his finger tips, but there was resistance.

He pushed.

He shouldn't have.

An abrupt cry of pain jolted everyone into a jump as the Frenchman gave a violent shudder and wrenched his hand back, eyes flying open in alarm.

"Francis?" Matthew inquired in a soft, but urgent tone, "Is something wrong?"

The taller man stared at his hand blankly.

"…Francis?"

With a slight shake of head, Francis pulled himself out of deep contemplation, and brushed that hand through his hair, sighing.

"_Ne t'inquiètes pas, mon coeur._" He whispered, giving a reassuring smile mixed with apology the strawberry blonde beside him, and explained; "I was careless and too hasty. I will try again."

"Don't—Don't push yourself, eh?" His little Matthieu still looked just as worried, "…Please…?" He said in a small voice, large, round eyes as if sparkling crystals under gently furrowed eyebrows.

His heart ached a little; the last thing he wanted was his carelessness causing unnecessary stress for his lover.

So he gave the brightest smile of surety he could muster, though what he really wanted to do was to pull the adorable young man into a tight embrace of comfort.

"…_Bien sûr, pour toi, mon amour_."

He had to forcefully tear his eyes away from his little Matthieu's, since he had quickly become mesmerized by them, and reached his hand out once more.

This time, he did not push insistently, but allowed himself to drift down, trying to block out the many life-stories screeching past his ears and clutching onto him, begging to be heard.

After what felt like an eternity of sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, shuffling through layers and layers of different memories, he reached the bottom, and found what he was looking for.

Without hesitation, he strode forward and grasped onto it, and, immediately, his mind was caught in the current of an aggressive whirlpool of pain, loss, torment, and brutality of war against the fragile mentality of a wounded man.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:** (If wrong, please correct! It might take me a while to get to it, but please do let me know!)

…_Je t'aime tant, Matthieu_… – …I love you so much, Matthieu... (provided by _radioactive edelweiss_ – thanks darling! :D)

_Non; non, pas du tout_ – No; no, not at all

_ma mère _– my mother

_certainement_ – certainly

_Oh Matthieu! Tu es très mignon, mon petit chaton!_ – Oh Matthieu! You are so cute, my little kitten!

_Ne t'inquiètes pas_ – Do not worry

…_Bien sûr, pour toi, mon amour_. – …Of course, for you, my love.

**Ending Notes: **I wish Kiku could give _me_ a van. XD

So, what do you think? Hopefully the supernatural explanation bits made sense. I tried to make it as understandable as I could, but since…well…I'm pretty much just making everything up out of thin air, so it's kinda hard sometimes 'cause I kinda don't even know what I'm talking about after a while. LOL

I still hope everything makes sense though! :O

At last, some things about Francis' past have been revealed! Hopefully that gets rid of some of the fog shrouding his character for you guys. ;)

Sorry if the sudden arrival of soup-blowing feels abrupt and out-of-place. I just thought that with all the gloom from most of that big section, those two could use a cute moment to mediate things.

I wish I had Matthew to blow soup for me…;_;

Parts of Yao's "Everything in nature has its power" spiel are inspired/taken from _Ghost Hunt_. If you have seen the series you'd probably know which parts I mean, if you haven't…what are you waiting for? WATCH EEEET—! :D

Well, this is all I have…sorry there couldn't be more; I haven't had many chances for writing these days. Have I ever mentioned that I can't wait till summer? I wish it were summer right now! …And that summer will never leave!

Omg wouldn't it be awesome if it were always summer vacation? XD

Anyways, I'll try my best to find as many chances as I can to be on the computer so I can reply to you guys and work on the story! I shouldn't ignore my poor friend anymore, who's been extremely kind to bear with me while I hog and neglect her for her computer. So I will talk to you another time (which will hopefully be soon), my darlings! :D

BIG MUAHS AND YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU FOREVER—!

I bid you a good farewell for now, and remember, I **WILL** BE BACK!

This is Feux Follets, checking out! –salutes–


	30. CASE3: H E, Brewing Disruption

_He had to forcefully tear his eyes away from his little Matthieu's, since he had quickly become mesmerized by them, and reached his hand out once more._

_This time, he did not push insistently, but allowed himself to drift down, trying to block out the many life-stories screeching past his ears and clutching onto him, begging to be heard._

_After what felt like an eternity of sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, shuffling through layers and layers of different memories, he reached the bottom, and found what he was looking for._

_Without hesitation, he strode forward and grasped onto it, and, immediately, his mind was caught in the current of an aggressive whirlpool of pain, loss, torment, and brutality of war against the fragile mentality of a wounded man._

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

The air was still, too still.

There was no wind, no sound.

The sun beat down on them, though strangely, it felt chilly.

There were no disturbances; they had been standing on their spots, unmoving.

Matthew swallowed; his mouth felt dry as he watched Francis' expressions, almost afraid to blink.

The Frenchman hadn't moved since he placed his hand on the well. His face was completely devoid of emotions or movements except for perhaps a slight furrow of his eyebrows in concentration.

He didn't expect this to take such a long time. Usually it'd only take Francis a minute or two at most, as memories flashed quickly, nonstop as if an ongoing flood. He wanted to ask what was going on, but knew he probably wouldn't get an answer, and that it was probably dangerous to suddenly break into the taller man's focus.

He fleetingly glanced around him, and met equally worried faces.

Yao had his arms loosely crossed in front of his chest, posture generally relaxed, but dark eyes alert and shinning. Kiku, seemingly unaware that his fiancée, who looked quite nervous, was holding one of his arms close to her chest, stood rather stiffly. His back was straight; he stared intently forward, studying Francis' expressions as if trying to find clues that'd suggest to what the tall blonde was seeing. Alfred had his hands in his pockets, nibbling on his lips and blinking, anxiety obvious in his vibrant blue eyes. He was easy to read, since he never hold back his emotions, but that hardly comforted Matthew, who didn't like seeing the hero look so uneasy and unsure.

Just as the Canadian's eyes started to shift away from the American, the one right beside him gave a jolt. Swinging his head towards the taller man, he felt his breath hitch as he prepared himself for anything that might happen, though he really had no idea what the possibilities were.

Expecting the worst, such as Francis fainting, he was surprised when the hand was merely calmly removed from the stone wall of the well, and put back into thin gloves. Ocean blue eyes slowly opened, and held nothing out of the ordinary, except for maybe the absence of seductive shimmers.

For silent moments, the team only stared at the Frenchman expectantly.

Alfred was the first to become impatient with the silence.

"…Well? What did you see?" He asked, leaning forward a little in anticipation.

Francis glanced over at him, but missed his face altogether.

Matthew frowned; "…Francis? Are you—Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

The Frenchman gave a curt shake of head, eyes staring intently forward.

His hair fell from behind his ears at the small, but sharp movements, ever golden and beautiful, but he made no graceful movement to tuck it back.

Something wasn't right.

Kiku shared a confused look with Mei as they caught each other's eyes. Yao took a tiny step forward, lips opening as if to say something, but he quickly closed it. Unraveling his arms, he let them dangle by his sides, though his fingers weren't relaxed, curling into his palms.

"Francis…speak to me, eh?" Matthew hated how uncertain his voice sounded; "If there's something wrong, maybe we can help—"

The look of shaken horrification overtook the Frenchman's expressions so fast that no one could even react before he abruptly fell to his knees with a painful thud. One of his hands shot up and tightly clenched around the lower half of his face, covering his mouth; he heaved in spasms, retching sounds barely muffled. His face suddenly turned pasty pale as his eyes widened, unblinking and glassy.

"-Francis? Francis!" Matthew was immediately down on his knees beside the fallen man, hands on his shoulders, calling in an alarmed voice.

"—What the hell-" There was an exclaim from Alfred, but the Canadian's frightened shouts interrupted it:

"—Francis! Francis, what's wrong?"

To his greater surprise, the Frenchman actually held up his other hand, gesturing him to stop.

He froze; he didn't understand. Distress was so strong that it felt physically sickening.

A painful heaviness pressed down on his chest as he could do nothing but watch his lover bear his suffering alone.

Francis took harsh breaths through his nose, eyes squeezing close as a tremour shook through his body. Soft grunts could be heard as he fought to keep the gagging sensations down, refusing to acknowledge how strong the nausea he was currently undergoing was. His mind was clear, though that hardly helped since everything he saw while he touched the well was still right in front of his eyes, imprinted in his memory.

After what felt like an eternity, it slowly started to subside. When he could only assume it was safe to think that his stomach was no longer going to upturn, he allowed the hand covering his lips to fall palm down onto the ground, supporting his torso with the other.

Harsh, deep breaths could be heard, and they almost sounded not of his own, but the cooling sensations they brought into his lungs calmed his racing heart.

He only then realized that the world was pitch black because his eyes were firmly closed.

Pale eyelashes fluttering, he opened then.

At first, all he saw was the ground, and his gloved hands.

He turned to the side, and his gaze met misty blue ones.

His little Matthieu looked so worried, staring at him widely and unblinkingly. There was no colour in his cheeks; his face was frozen in an expression of stress.

Francis almost frowned, wondering what had happened that made the Canadian so upset, but caught himself.

He bit back a wince, and cursed under his breath for his uncharacteristic slip of insensitivity.

"_Matthieu, mon petit, shhhhh…_" He reached up a hand and brushed a gentle touch, cupping his palm around the younger male's cheek; "I'm alright; I apologize for making you worry."

For a few seconds the strawberry blonde only continued to stare back at him, lower lip trembling and tears threatening to up-rise in large, round eyes. But it was brief.

He suddenly threw himself forward, and latched his arms around the Frenchman's torso, pressing his body close and nuzzling his face against the crook of his lover's neck.

Francis was a little startled, but more by the abruptness of the gesture.

He could hear shaky, soft breaths, and quickly wrapped his own arms around the Canadian, patting the blond head gently and whispering words of reassurance in a soothing, loving tone.

No one saw his expression of guilt as he tilted his face down to give Matthew a firm kiss on the top of his head; he didn't know what thoughts were running through the smaller man's mind, but he could take a good guess that they were filled with self-blame.

After all, memories of that night of narrowly escaping death and its consequences were still fresh on everyone's mind, especially for the one who believed so strongly that the reason everything transpired the way it did was because of his own reckless actions.

His guess was not far from the truth.

Matthew, snuggling into the embrace, closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He wanted to think that he didn't understand why he was so shaken, but that confusion was too much of a lie to fool himself.

_Helpless…Useless…_

_What can you do?_

_What can you do but—_

_Watch…?_

_You'd like to think that you are better…_

_But things are still the same, are they not?_

_You're still just watching…_

_Watching…_

_Always watching…_

_Watching from afar…watching everything unfold…_

_But you can't do anything, can you…_

_You can never do anything to help…_

…_Always comforted by others…Always being taken care of by others…_

_Always needy…_

…_Always pathetic…_

Amongst the self-condescending thoughts swirling inside his head, he couldn't find enough resolve to fight them.

He concentrated on Francis' strong arms, his cooing voice, and the faint, musky scent of expensive cologne the Frenchman wore instead.

When he felt somewhat calmer, he tilted his head very slightly, and gave the older male a small peck on the neck.

He felt Francis smile and the hug tightening a little.

"So uhh…what the hell just happened?" Alfred's voice reached his ears.

"…I was…overwhelmed; that was all." A weak, huffed laugh of slight embarrassment sounded from the chest he was pressed into; "I'm afraid it's not just the spirit that's imprisoned inside this well, but also every single soul it's killed."

"_Soul_, aru?" Yao's voice mirrored his slightly surprised, questioning expression.

The Frenchman was quick to explain.

"The floating orbs we saw on the monitors, they attacked me when we were here on that night; they don't cause much actual harm, though they are quite malicious. They are souls of all the victims that the warrior spirit killed; they were killed as humans, and are still being killed as souls." Francis sighed, sounding tired. "Our warrior spirit is bent on a killing spree; he was a warlord, driven to madness by the brutality of blood-soaked battles. The ground we stand on is where his home was, where he murdered his family in a craze and continues to murder even after his death.

"He slaughtered many, too many…" The deep, sultry voice was almost hypnotic, as if spoken over a candle-light dinner instead of the current situation; "Their anguished cries and screaming memories all twisted into one big blur, which was why I was…well…"

There was a brief, contemplative silence.

When Yao spoke again, his voice was a thoughtful murmur:

"They can't leave the grounds, aru?"

"I'm afraid not; they are bound here." The Frenchman answered without delay. "The reason they never appear in the same room or even on the same floor as the warrior spirit is because they are afraid of him, and they have every understandable reason to," Francis paused for the slightest second as if wondering how to properly word his next sentence; "…They can still be killed, over and over again, night after night, by the same man who ended their lives."

"…So what, our spirit warlord guy goes into the well at day and comes out at night to kill things? What does that even do?" Alfred didn't seem to understand the point behind all the hassle.

"I hardly think he realizes what he is doing, _mon ami_," A sigh followed his answer; "He seems to be convinced that he is still engaged in battle."

"Oh _great_…This just keeps gettin' better and better…" The American gave an inelegant splutter, "What's with all these crazy spirits? First the Boyer lady, then some random chick ghost who possessed Ivan's sister and tried to bite his head off, and now _this_…makes you wonder what happened to all the _normal_ ghosts, doesn't it? …Like, I donno…Casper the Friendly Ghost?"

No one knew how to reply to that.

"There is one thing that bothers me very much," Francis broke the somewhat awkward silence that settled over the team, "This spirit is extremely aware of his intentions, and has very focused thoughts."

"…What are you trying to say, man?" Alfred asked.

"What I am trying to say is that, I think…" There was a long, thoughtful pause, "…I _think_…he believes that he is still alive."

Matthew leaned back, an expression of shock on his face as he looked up at Francis.

He was not the only one surprised.

"But…How's that possible, eh?" He shook his head gently, the looped curl on the top of his head bobbing; "Not shooting your idea down, of course, but…when I first saw him on that night, he was…he was walking on the _ceiling_. He can't possibly believe he's still alive if he can do _that_, eh?"

"…_Je…Je ne suis pas très sûr…_" The Frenchman looked just as confused; "That notion was quite strong, something reoccurring as I was…studying him."

"Francis," Yao voiced another question, "Matthew talked about how, in his dreams, there was a feeling that the warrior spirit seems to think that he was betrayed. Did you pick up on anything like that?"

"_Oh, oui, oui…pardonnes-moi, il—_" The Canadian gave him a small nudge, and, just realizing he was speaking in French again, he brushed a hand through his hair, giving a small, sheepish laugh, "-I apologize; it slipped my mind. …There were many memories, but yes, he does seem to think so."

"Did you manage to get a name, aru?"

"I'm afraid not; there was hardly much dialog, and even if names were mentioned I probably wouldn't have picked up on them. Only Japanese was spoken."

"Oh…of course…" It was Yao's turn to look a little sheepish.

"It was a man, perhaps a friend who was also involved in the army that he thought had betrayed him. That man only made a very brief appearance on the night the spirit went on a rampage and murdered everyone in sight; he was the one that subdued the madman and killed him, disposing his body inside the well."

Kiku suddenly looked a little green.

"…Kiku?" Mei asked, worried.

"I'm…I'm alright…" He reassured his fiancée, though he hardly felt any better.

It was understandable of course, since his family sometimes drank from the well, thinking it was natural mineral water.

Francis frowned in concentration, trying to remember all he could; "That part was awfully hazy; I had to be very persistent. The warrior spirit doesn't believe he was killed after all, so that memory was buried deep." Sighing, he gave a humourless laugh. "His will to live is very strong, our culprit."

A soft murmur of acknowledgement settled over the team as everyone took the newly-learnt information in.

"I—…I have a…a very…outrageous idea, aru…" Yao scratched the back of his head, voice barely above a mumble.

"Yeah?" Alfred's head immediately turned as he spoke, eyes round and hopeful.

Matthew turned as well, still in an embrace with Francis, but looked at the Chinese man intently with equal hopefulness.

Yao took a deep breath, hands rising to prop up on his hips.

"Our spirit doesn't believe he is dead, right?" He began slowly, carefully choosing his words; "And he was a warlord in his lifetime, which means that he was taught with discipline and honour. Say, if—…if…if we were to…_pretend_ to challenge him in a duel, he'd have to accept, aru…"

"Hate to break it to ya, man, but the dude's pretty good at what he does," Alfred shifted uneasily, the wound on his arm suddenly becoming itchy and uncomfortable.

He scratched at it absentmindedly through the thick bandages.

"The challenger will be heavily protected, aru," Yao explained patiently, "He will just have to subdue the spirit long enough to allow a life-threatening blow that would make the spirit believe that he is going to be killed."

"So are you gonna fight him then?" The American was still scratching his arm.

"Stop that, aru!" Yao reached over and gave the blonde's hand a small slap. Sighing, he continued, ignoring the pout Alfred gave him; "I won't be able to, because, in order to exorcise it, I have to time my attack at the exact moment the spirit believes he is seconds away from death."

"So, basically, we're gonna 'kill' him and force him to move on?" Alfred's hand started to rise to scratch his bandaged arm again, but stopped when Yao fixed him with a warning stare.

"Yes, aru," The Chinese man nodded; "Then all the other spirits affiliated with him should be freed too."

"Well, I guess our options at who's gonna fight him is pretty limited, yeah?" The American looked quite sulky; "I mean, Francis and I can't do it; you can't do it, and Matthew doesn't really look the fighter type," He ignored the Canadian's small protest of "Hey! I can kick anyone's butt in hockey!", "So…it's pretty clear who's gonna have t'do it."

Mei's hands tightened protectively around Kiku's arm, and looked like she was going to object, but stopped as Kiku placed a gentle, but firm hand on top of hers.

"I will do whatever that is needed to solve this case." He said, nodding.

Yao looked quite proud of him as a smile tugged at his lips, eyes beaming, before continuing on to explain his plan:

"There is another important component for this to work, aru, and…" He paused rather abruptly, giving Matthew and Francis fleeting glances as if unable to meet their eyes, "…and this is where…well…if anyone feels uncomfortable about it, I understand completely and we will abort it."

The Canadian frowned.

"…What do you mean?"

Thinking it was best to just say it straight up, Yao took a small breath and spoke:

"What gave me inspiration for this idea is actually what happened two nights ago…Exorcisms work the best if the spirit or demonic presence is within an object, or a person—"

"-But our ghost thinks he's alive; he probably doesn't even know _how_ to possess anyone," Alfred cut in with a valid point, though he himself didn't even fully know just how important it was yet, and at that, it suddenly dawned to the rest of the team what Yao was suggesting.

Matthew's eyes widened.

"Precisely, aru, but that's not what happened when Francis touched him," Meeting ocean blue eyes with a polite, but questioning gaze, Yao questioned with an even tone, though his eyebrows furrowed; "How did that happen, Francis?"

For a few moments, the Frenchman remained silent; when he spoke, his voice was strangely calm at what was being suggested:

"There was a hole on one of my gloves from the time when I tried to fend off one of the orbs attacking me, afterwards was when I touched the spirit."

Yao gave a small nod, though it was more of a gesture for something to do than needed.

A strained silence hung over the team as Matthew looked horrified.

The only person who didn't seem to catch onto it was Alfred, whose eyes flickered back and forth between all of the tense expressions in front of him.

"…It will also increase our chances of success," Yao broke the silence when it grew too suffocating; "Though the spirit believes that he is alive, he is still prone to show speed, agility, and various abilities enhancing his skills. Even if Kiku were to use a weapon specially made to actually do harm to supernatural beings, the chances of him actually finding a way to land a life-threatening attack is still pretty low, aru. But if—if the spirit were inside an actual human's body…especially one not used to wielding a katana and doing martial arts, then he will be much easier to be beaten. This leverage is essential to the success of the exorcism—"

"**-No.**"

Matthew's voice cut in, uncharacteristically cold and cutting.

Yao actually winced, though kept his gaze firm.

The Canadian tightened his arms around Francis, lips pressing tightly together. His blue eyes flashed threateningly with hostility.

"I won't let you." He hissed out a harsh whisper.

"…M-Matthew, aru…" The dark-haired man glanced away for a brief second, "I know what I am proposing is dangerous—"

"No."

"-but I wouldn't mention it if there weren't a big possibility that—"

"I said '_no_'!"

"-Wait, hold up!" Alfred cut in, lifting his arms up between Matthew and Yao; he seemed to have just gotten the gist of what was going on, "…Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" He turned his head, and met the Chinese man's eyes with an incredulous, disbelieving stare; "_…_Are you_ insane_?"

Yao snapped his gaze away, and looked down at the ground.

"This idea's very creative and all, but Francis is in no shape to become possessed. I mean, _look at 'im!_ He can't even ride in the car without falling over!"

Francis felt a little offended along with a tinge of indignation from his pride as a man if anything, but it was only for a split of a second before his logic told him that Alfred's words were quite justified by reality.

"I…I could—I could still look into it and find another way of course; sorry I asked, aru…" Yao shifted on his feet and scratched the back of his head. He really was truly apologetic, and decided to not voice out how, despite of the fact that they now knew a lot more about the case than before, there was still a big question mark as to how to solve it without Francis' participation.

He could find a ritual to cleanse the mansion grounds once and for all, but just the sheer number of souls trapped inside alone made it extremely difficult, if not impossible, for him to do by himself. But at the same time, if he were to ask for aid, yes it would take some of the burden from his shoulders, but the possibility of things getting out of hands is too great as it is too easy to have miscommunication, which could ultimately lead to a huge disaster in which limbs could become severed and heads chopped off.

This one spirit, who was once a warlord, was more of a threat than the demon at Hedgewood.

He was skilled, precise, merciless, and cunning.

Yao had a nagging suspicion that perhaps he should not be addressing the spirit as a "he" anymore, but by "it" as at the beginning of the case.

Maybe he should ask his father to start looking for blessed rocks in China, and ask Mei to do the same in Japan, or even call up Arthur to search in Great Britain, though the bushy-eyebrowed man still could not be reached.

He doubted Ivan even had the faintest clue as to what a blessed rock was, but it never hurt to ask…

Sighing, the Chinese man straightened his posture in determination.

He will find a way.

Alfred looked down at his toes, kicking around at nothing in particular. He knew whatever that was going to happen probably wasn't going to involve him in action, since he only had one functional arm. Even if he had both of his arms ready for action, he still would probably only help out on the sidelines, since he'd be more of a hindrance than anything if he were to try to leap in without regards to what was going on.

This might come to be shocking to some, but the American actually knew when to be the hero, and when not to be.

…Most of the time.

It wasn't often that he wished he had supernatural powers, since he was a strong believer that "you just gotta work with whatever you've got, 'cause batman doesn't have any super powers and he's one of the most kick-ass super hero there ever was" – one of his favourites. But on seldom occasions, such as now, he kind of wished that he'd at least have _something_, even if it were…being able to talk to trees, so he could at least protect his team mates (though he wasn't too sure how being able to talk to trees would offer protection).

Being the hero doesn't mean always being in the front line; it meant protecting those who need protecting.

Biting back a sigh, he thought he kind of understands his old man on seldom occasions such as now. Good old Mr. Jones was the odd sheep out of the flock, being completely normal and all, as opposed to his brother, Alfred's uncle, who inherited what Alfred called the family's magic genes. Because of that, grandparents Joneses thought it was the best for father Jones to lead a life outside of the Occults, hence accidentally alienating their son when he was sent to America before he could properly walk upright. Needless to say, father Jones grew to hate anything bizarre, so much to the extent of actually pretending he didn't have any family across the Atlantic, though the hatred was not passed onto Alfred.

This caused such uproars of passionate fights and terrible conflicts between father and son that they almost disowned each other.

Alfred did not regret his decision of moving out as soon as he could to start his career as a freelancing hero; it was his childhood dream, and his only aspiration.

But he still sometimes wished that he'd at least have _something_.

"Well," He gave a sigh and flashed a bright grin, trying to lighten up the mood as he noticed how Matthew's arms were still wrapped quite tightly and protectively around Francis as he wore a glower on his face; "Should we uhh…head back to the side house? We're done here, aren't we?"

"Yes; yes, we are, aru…" Yao seemed relieved.

"Well, I guess we should get goin' then, 'cause I certainly am not about to wait here for the sun to go down and have our crazy spirit guy come out again and—"

"**-I'll do it.**" A voice cut in.

All eyes went to Francis, who wore a small, soft smile on his face as if he was talking about cooking them a French dinner, arms still casually wrapped around his little Matthieu.

"…What?" Alfred could only ask, confused.

"I will do as Yao suggested." The Frenchman's voice was a soft murmur.

Shock didn't diminish in the slightest as Matthew swung his head around to stare up at his lover, wide-eyed and mouth hanging open.

"I think I should do as Yao suggested, _mon coeur de sucre_," In a gentle, consoling tone, he spoke, barely above a whisper, and brushed a few strands of strawberry blond hair away from his little darling's beautiful face.

"…B-But—But you can't!" The Canadian shook his head violently, clear eyes pleading and stubborn; "It's too dangerous! I won't let you!"

"_Matthieu, mon cher Matthieu…_" Francis shushed him with a peck on the lips, "It warms my heart to know that you care for me, but you must understand," When Matthew opened his pink lips in protest again, he gave them another kiss; "-_please_ understand that I don't like this any more than you do." He gave a little laugh at the slightly embarrassed look of disbelief on Matthew's face at being silenced by smothering kisses, which was simply adorable; "I can't pretend that I am anything close to being brave and heroic, unlike our Alfred; in fact, I would much rather sit back, drink wine, and watch the spectacle, but we can't have everything we want in life, _oui~_?"

The Canadian didn't say anything, but looked downright miserable. The Frenchman took the sight in, and felt his heart clench in a dull ache; he immediately pulled the younger man back against his chest for a tight hug.

The strawberry blonde instantly clung to him, burying his face, hiding his expressions.

"_Oh, Matthieu_…" A small sigh accompanied Francis' words as he gently pressed his cheek against the top of Matthew's head, "How can I make you understand without sounding harsh…?" His voice was pensive and soft, and almost calming.

"…I just…I just don't want you to get hurt…" A small whisper answered; "Arthur—…Arthur said…Arthur said that…people can—…" Matthew tensed, pausing a little, "…He said that people can die from these things! And-And I don't—…I don't—I—" He abruptly stopped, shaking his head, a few small, muffled, uneven breaths leaving his lips; "…I can't! …I just can't!"

Silence followed for long moments as he clutched onto Francis' arms almost in desperation, as he tried in vain to calm himself, but his shivers, only seconds before small enough to be unnoticed, intensified.

"…When I thought—…When I thought……on the night at the mansion, when you—when you were—" He shook his head once more, violently, as if he wanted to shake away unwanted thoughts; "-I—…I just can't do it, Francis; _please_ don't make me!

"I can't afford to lose you…!"

Francis frowned; the rather extreme extent of the worry he felt from his little Matthieu was borderline insensible, and it was starting to alarm him. It was normal for the Canadian to be concerned, of course. By all means, he was worried for himself as well, but it was as if the shaken blonde in his arms was already…

…was already mourning his death…

"- No…Please, Francis, just don't do it…" The small voice was strained, and huffed; "…Don't do it…_Please!_"

Memories from that day at the hospital came back immediately.

It wasn't that he'd forgotten about it; no, far from it in fact. It was just that he never quite got the chance and opportunity to inquire about it. It took all the time at the hospital to properly calm his little Matthieu down, and since returning from the hospital, well…he hadn't really been feeling his best.

But what the Canadian had said back then during his manic episode…

"_Just like Papa!"_

The way his features twisted into such an expression of agony and guilt…

"_J-Just like Papa—!"_

…He could never forget it…

…He could never forget the look on his little Matthieu's face as he cried out those words.

"-Matthieu," Eyebrows furrowed and eyes shinning with barely contained anxiety, he opened his mouth, and had just gathered all of his resolve to finally ask about the Canadian's childhood and find out just _what it was_ that made him so sensitive and so easily emotionally upset, when Alfred cut in:

"-I'll do it then."

His head snapped up, a few long strands of golden, shimmering locks of silky hair falling from behind his ears and obscuring parts of his vision, though he made no movements to tuck them back.

Matthew shifted a little, and looked back with round eyes, telltale signs of rising tears swimming in the clear, blue pools.

Alfred gave a lop-sided grin of confidence and reassurance; "It's about time _I_ get the chance to do something!" He gave his chest a few pats before changing his attention to Francis: "So don't force a big spoon down your throat, man"

"…I don't think anyone would force a spoon down their throat, aru…" Yao mumbled under his breath, but was unheard.

"I'm the _hero_! So naturally _I_ should be the one to do something like this," He pointed a thumb towards himself, vibrant eyes glittering like bright stars, beaming. "Besides, I pretty much only have one functional arm, so it'd make things even easier to take care of!"

Francis shook his head gently, still not quite convinced; "I don't mean to dampen your spirits, _mon cher ami_, but how do you plan to go about doing that?" He paused, and when the American blinked and didn't seem to understand what he was talking about, he continued: "You do not have my abilities, Alfred."

"Oh, _that_!" A lighthearted laughter followed; "That's easy to solve! All you'd need to do is grab our spirit guy with one hand, and grab me with the other!"

"…I'm not a conductor, Alfred; I can't say it will work."

"You can't say it won't either," Alfred gave a shrug.

A little flabbergasted, the Frenchman turned to Yao with a look asking for help.

The Asian shifted on his feet and looked thoughtful.

"I…I don't know, aru…You should know more about your power than us, right?" Though he tried to hide it, there was a hopeful shimmer in the Chinese man's eyes.

Sighing, Francis didn't give a nod, or a shake of head.

"…_Oui…_" He didn't speak for a few, short moments; "_Mais_—…But I-I'm afraid this has never happened to me before, possession by such…strange circumstances I mean, so I can't say what will happen if we were to do as Alfred suggested." He still looked quite hesitant.

"Oh come _oooon_! Where's your sense of adventure?" The American gave a small, dismissive wave, and that annoyed Francis a little.

"You should treat your own person with more care, _monsieur Jones_," There was a crisp, cutting tone in the usually sultry voice; "You might have nothing to hide, but do you understand the consequences if I were to touch you? A person exists by his memories; the entirety of your being will instantly transfer into my mind."

At the speechless look on Alfred's face and his widening eyes, it was obvious he hadn't thought about that.

"…Sorry, man, I didn't—…I—" Alfred looked quite sheepish and apologetic, shaking his head a little, eyebrows slightly frowned.

"-_Non_; _non_…I shouldn't—…" He sighed once more, all of a sudden feeling tired, "…It isn't like me to be so cynical. _Je suis désolé, Alfred._" He gave a small nod; "We should give it a try. The worst thing that can happen is the spirit possessing me if it doesn't work." He looked surprisingly at ease at the thought.

Matthew didn't say anything. He didn't oppose, but he didn't like the idea either.

His lips were pursed, and his eyes were stormy, speaking of internal conflicts.

Alfred's suggestion put Francis away from immediate danger, and worked well with Yao's idea. Though it might put a damper on his energetic attitude, the American will not have nasty side effects such as lingering weakness and dizziness from the possession, unlike the Frenchman, _and _he was temporarily somewhat handicapped, making him easier to subdue.

Besides, if he was being honest with himself, he knew that Yao would never let anything bad happen to any of his friends.

However, he still couldn't find it in himself to agree to it.

He didn't like the idea of anyone going under invasively forced possession.

After all, this was different from when Arthur was possessed to solve the Hedgewood case.

Eileen Boyer's exorcism was, to a certain extent, controlled, since they knew pretty much exactly what was going on; not only that, Arthur was bound to one place, and had a very limited movement range. There was also Ivan, who could manhandle the situation under control if all else failed, and _two_ practitioners of magic were present on the scene, though one was under the influence of a vengeful spirit.

But now, they had neither Ivan nor Arthur as backup, _and_ there was going to be a free-moving possessed vessel, but that wasn't the worst – there were still blurry edges around the current situation.

Matthew was a worry-wart to the letter, and did not like jumping into something as dangerous as an exorcism without knowing exactly what was going on. However, at the same time, he really didn't know much about how rituals and such worked in the first place.

Sighing and tentatively making up his mind, he decided that he should put more faith to Yao, who wouldn't propose such an idea if there wasn't a high chance of success.

Looking up, he startled as he suddenly noticed everyone looking at him expectantly, waiting for approval or refusal.

Remembering what Yao had said about if any one of them were to not like the idea, they would abort it, he gave a small sigh, but a faint quirk of a smile tilted the corners of his lips upwards.

"I…I guess we should give it a try, eh…?"

He blushed a little at how everyone let out a breath at his answer, feeling a little bad about how he was perhaps being too careful and a little of a nuisance.

"That's my Mattie!" Alfred said after a rather exaggerated "Whew!".

Smile growing a little brighter, he realized that he was still on the ground leaning against Francis.

Flushing redder in the cheeks, he turned his head and gave the older male an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry Francis…Your pants are too expensive for sitting on the ground…" He was genuinely apologetic, because he knew that one pair of Francis' pants very likely cost more than all the pants he owned combined altogether.

The Frenchman gave a good-natured laugh; "Don't say that, _mon petit chaton_; I will gladly sit on the ground any day with you."

Matthew blinked, and couldn't help but give a shy, loving smile back.

It was returned, and Francis leaned down to capture his lips in a warm, deep kiss.

The two lovebirds, lost in their own little world, had only broken it when Alfred made an awkward cough and brought them back to earth.

~o0o0o0o0o~

Feliks, humming to the radio, wiped the countertop of the bar with a pretty little cloth, hips swaying to the beat of the music. His silky smooth hair was tucked behind his ears, held in place by small, sparkly hair clips. Pink eye-shadow complimented his sapphire eyes to a glittering green, and since his lips were naturally pink anyways, he'd only dabbed on a bit of shiny lip gloss just to complete the fresh look.

The day was dark, overcast by such thick layers of dense clouds that there was very little light shinning through. Rain poured down to the earth in bucketfuls. However, Feliks was never one to let the weather dampen his mood, which was partly why he loved the colour pink.

It was just so cute and happy!

The diner had yet opened for the dinner shift, but it was getting close to the time. Hurrying to the back, he washed the cloth, and hung it up neatly before washing his hands and wiping them clean. With quick steps, he made his way back to the bar. His fluffy skirt fluttered around his legs, which were encased in white stockings edged by frills, as he double-checked that everything was where they were supposed to be.

He was just swishing around a half-empty bottle of whisky and wondering if he should get another full bottle from the back when hard knocks suddenly pounded on the diner's doors.

He jumped, a small gasp taken in through pouty lips, and sent an annoyed half-glare to the direction of the entrance.

Hands on his hips, he turned towards the doors, and called out:

"We're like, totally not open yet; come back later!"

He had just started to turn back to the whisky bottle when another round of knocks, even louder and more forceful than before, sounded, rattling the doors.

Feliks was getting annoyed. Rolling his eyes, he walked over, wondering who the rude intruder was, disturbing his last few minutes of peace before another busy evening started.

He knew it wasn't the waitresses since they come in through the back, and would usually help Toris out, who was the cook and owner of the diner, with preparing the ingredients and whatnot.

They had already said "hi" to the Polish man and did a bit of tidying up and cleaning in the front, so he knew it couldn't be them since they were already here.

Somewhat cautiously, but still wearing a displeased expression, he stood right in front of the doors and called out once again:

"Did you like, not hear me the first time or something? There's like, a _time table_ outside for you to see when we open, okay?"

He barely even finished talking before the person outside knocked again.

"Oh, my, _God_! Why are you like so _rude_?" Flipping his hair off his shoulder with one hand, he reached over to the latches with the other. Snapping them open, he had a small growl on his face as he swung open one of the doors, lips apart in preparation for a tirade of annoyance.

But it died as soon as he saw just who it was standing outside the door, drenched from head to toe from the hailing rain, eyes puffy and red with hot tears streaming down flushed cheeks.

Feliks was taken back, an expression of complete shock on his pretty face.

The man outside lifted his head a little, but did not lift his eyes. He wore nothing but a shirt, slacks, and a long robe that didn't look very appropriate for the weather on his body. They were completely wet, and stuck to his frame, which looked awfully small compared to how big the robe was hanging on his shoulders.

"…Please, Feliks…May I—…May I come in…?" The voice was almost a whisper, weak, and barely audible, muffled by the sound of rain and grumbling thunder.

The Polish man was so shocked that he could not speak for several moments, staring with wide eyes unblinking and a hand vague covering his opened lips.

"…Please…it's—it's awfully cold…" It was then the bartender realized just how pale the other man was, and that his lips were tinted blue. Under soaked clothes, he was shivering, and curling into himself.

"-Of—Of course," Feliks, jerking himself out of his dismayed stupor, stepped to the side and allowed the man in, all the while staring rather blatantly.

He knew it was rude, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Closing the door quickly behind the slowly walking man, he redid the latches, and briskly strode to the bar, where his unexpected guest was headed towards.

"I'll give you something that'll warm you up quickly, 'kay?" He said in a gentle voice, and almost did not catch the small nod of head, but completely missed how the dull, green eyes hidden under unruly bangs of short blond hair suddenly glazed over.

Just as he bent down to retrieve a glass, the man went completely limp and dropped down unconscious, joints hitting the floor of the diner loudly followed by the sound of his skull bashing against its hard wood.

Feliks instantly jumped, yelping, and snapped his head up, staring at the fallen heap on the floor.

"…Little Artie…?" He called, eyes round.

The man did not move.

"Oh my God! Little Artie!" Scrambling, he climbed over the bar, skirt flying up in the air, and ran to the fallen figure's side. Dropping to his knees with a rather painful thud, he shook the man gently by his shoulders. "Come on, wake up! Wake up!"

Brushing aside a few wet strands of blond hair, Arthur's pale face came into view, relaxed and expressionless. Feliks would've thought that he was fast asleep if it weren't for how feverish his skin felt under his fingers.

"Oh my God—…Oh my God!" The Polish man was starting to freak out, thoughts and emotions flying at lightning speed inside his head, making a big, jumbled mess. One of those thoughts suddenly pierced through the rest like a spear, and he jolted at how forceful it jumped forth at him.

Taking in a big lungful of air, he screamed to the back:

"**LIIIIIEEEEEEEET-!**"

There was a faint crashing sound of dishes and an exclaim of fright muffled by walls from the kitchen. Barely seconds later, a lean-figured man with soft, brown hair stumble out of the door leading to the back.

"Feliks, how many times do I have to tell you to not call me that? I'm not the only man from Lithuania—" Deep green eyes with slight exasperation was bright in the dark, but grew wider as they finally took in the full sight of what was going on.

"Who—"

"-Never mind that!" Feliks cut in, panic flashing in his eyes; "Like—_Do something!_" He gestured to the unconscious man on the floor.

"Liet" didn't need to be told twice. Immediately striding forward and kneeling down on Arthur's other side, he quickly did an overall body check. Finding nothing out of the ordinary (breathing was even; heartbeats were strong; no injuries…), he spoke in a soft, but firm voice, eyes catching the Polish man's:

"Come on, let's get him upstairs. You get the other arm, and on three we'll pull him up."

Feliks grimaced a little as cold water seeped through his clothes when he wrapped Arthur's limp arm around his shoulders, but did not complain.

"Ready?" The brunette asked.

"Y-Yeah…" The blonde was still a little shaken.

"Liet" gave him an encouraging smile, expression kind and warm; "Don't worry. He'll be fine."

"…Yeah…" Feliks gave a small smile back; it was slightly faltering, but genuine; "Yeah…He like, better be fine…dripping water all over the floor like that…"

They shared a smile, and pulled the British man up. Calling for one of the waitresses, the Lithuanian asked the girl to open the door leading to his, as well as Feliks', home on the second floor.

Climbing stairs was very tricky when pulling along and supporting a completely limp person, but they managed without much difficulty since Arthur was around their size, and quickly found a couch to put the unconscious man on.

"Find some dry clothes and a towel, Feliks. We have to get him dry and warm."

Feliks, without a word, ran to their bedroom. A few moments later, he came back with a big bathing towel and a surprisingly large heap of ruffled shirts and lacy dresses.

"Liet" almost spluttered out an incredulous laugh, watching his lover place the outfits out neatly on the coffee table; "Feliks…I think a pretty outfit should be the last of our concerns."

"Just 'cause he's like wet and unconscious and stuff doesn't mean he can't look good, you know." Feliks gave a small flair of a pale wrist in a dismissive manner before throwing the towel at the brunette; "You towel him first."

The towel landed on Liet's head. The brown-haired man sighed a little, shaking his head, though with a small smile. Taking the towel into his hands, he started to gently dry the British man's face and hair. When Feliks finished picking out an outfit, the two peeled the drenched clothes off from Arthur's body. It took a while for them to decide whether to leave the underwear on or not.

Liet already looked very uncomfortable and embarrassed, seeing someone he didn't know in undergarments, and the thought of stripping the man naked made his face flush even redder. But Feliks, not wanting Little Artie to be in soggy underwear, rolled his eyes and pulled it down in one tug.

Liet spluttered and spun around on his feet, facing the opposite direction.

"_Geez_, Liet, get _over_ yourself. It's not like you haven't like…seen a naked guy before." A teasing giggle followed, and the brunette blushed harder.

Eyeing the strange stains on the pants and underwear, the Polish man decided that he shouldn't get too curious. Gathering all the dripping wet clothes, including the strange robe, he headed for the laundry room while his lover continued toweling Arthur dry, all the while trying to not look.

Once everything was thrown into the washing machine, Feliks walked back into the living room, and helped the now completely dry Arthur into his clothes.

They fit surprisingly well.

"Awwww, isn't he just like the cutest thing, like ever?" The blonde seemed to have completely calmed down from his previous frenzied panic.

Liet didn't answer; in fact, he seemed to be mumbling to himself:

"…He probably needs a thick blanket…Yes, I think he needs a thick blanket…" The cook got up from leaning against the armrest of the sofa and walked into the bedroom. He reappeared with one of the biggest, thickest comforter he could find, and draped it over the still unconscious figure carefully.

Feliks helped him wrap it snuggly around the Brit.

"…Probably some hot tea too…" More mumbles later, a pot of fresh tea with matching small cups along with a tray of cookies and various fruits were set out on the coffee table in front of the couch after much wandering by the brunette.

"…Liet…?" Feliks, watching, was mildly amused, despite of being used to the Lithuanian's fretful habits. When the other man continued mumbling and started to look for matching spoons, holding a small stack of sugar cubes on a small dish, the Polish man gave a pouted frown; "Liet? Come on, Liet; stop, like, ignoring me and stuff."

"…I know you're in here…Where did you go? ...Ahh! There you ar—"

"_-Toris!_"

Toris jumped, and the stacked sugar cubes almost fell over. Seeing Feliks looking at him with pouted pursed lips and arms crossed in front of his chest, he sighed.

"Feliks, you didn't have to yell." Picking up the third spoon, he walked over and started arranging the set-up on the coffee table, voice in a light chiding tone.

"Yeah, but you were like totally ignoring me, and that's so not cool, like, at all," The blonde huffed a little, but waved a hand towards all the food and tea; "And you know, Little Artie's not awake, so he like, can't really have any of that."

"They're not just for him…" With another sigh, Toris waved Feliks over, and handed him a cup of steaming tea.

The blonde made a face at the cup; "Tea is like ew."

"Just drink it, Feliks," The Lithuanian took a sip, and hummed in comfort.

"So like, what do you think happened to him? He just like, came in, and then like, dropped on the floor, without like, any, you know…what's that word…"

"…Warning…?" The brunette lifted up an eyebrow.

"Yeah, that," The blonde made a bigger face after he took a small gulp of the tea.

"I really don't know, Feliks…" Putting his cup down, Toris went back to his spot leaning against the armrest of the couch, and placed a hand on Arthur's forehead; a small frown appeared on his worried face. "…He's burning up…"

"So…what do you think we should do?" Feliks couldn't have looked happier to put his own cup of tea down as well.

"I guess we should just let him rest and wait till he wakes up. Once he does, I will make some hot soup for him," Giving another sigh and brushing back strands of brown hair with both hands, he turned to the blonde currently perched up on the other armrest; "I have to go back down to the diner. Do you think you'll be fine by yourself?"

"Of course I'm gonna be fine. I mean," Feliks gave a small shrug; "I just feel kinda bad, you know, 'cause I can't really make drinks up here…"

He has always been extremely proud of his bartending skills, and was quite a personality around town. There were an impressive number of regulars that became good friends with him and his drinks, which was why he didn't really fancy not working at the bar. However, he was extremely worried for his Little Artie, despite of knowing him for only days, and knew Toris worried too much for the Brit to be left alone upstairs.

"I'm sorry, Feliks." The brunette looked genuinely apologetic, and the Polish man frowned.

"Why are _you_ apologizing?" Rolling his bright, green eyes good-naturedly, he gave a playful quirk of a smile; "Give me a kiss and get outta here."

Toris gave a small laugh, a little embarrassed, and came closer.

It was more of a peck than a kiss, but, since the diner was going to open to the public in but a few minutes, Feliks let it go, and watched as Liet walked down the stairs.

"Let me know when he wakes up." He said as he opened the door leading to the diner, and gave a small smile before disappearing behind it.

Tick-tocks of the clock on the wall was quite prominent compared to the overall stillness in the living room.

Instantly growing bored and needing something to do, the Polish cross-dresser jumped down from his spot on the sofa armrest and went to Little Artie's side. Squatting down, he gently combed away a few strands of cropped blond hair, and placed the back of his hand against one of the flushed cheeks.

It was still hot.

Sighing, he was just about to get up when Arthur suddenly moved, and let out a loud groan.

"…Little Artie?" Bright green eyes lighting up, Feliks instantly called out, shaking the man lying down by the shoulder. "Hello~~?"

After many long moments of muffled groans and fluttering of eyelashes, Arthur's eyes opened, unfocused and confused.

"…Feliks…?"

"Little Artie! Ooooh I'm like_ so_ glad that you're okay! You got us like seriously worried, you know!" Relief was apparent enough on his face without his exclaims.

Looking at the intense concern flickering in Feliks' eyes and his slightly pursed, glossy lips, Arthur didn't know what to say.

"…Where—"

"You're in my house, like, above the diner."

"Oh…" He blinked. "…Why…?" He asked in a whisper.

"…_Why?_" Thin, blond eyebrows furrowed on the pretty face, confused.

"Why—…Why are you helping me?"

Feliks' eyes widened.

"Oh my God, Little Artie, has your fever like, made you dumb or something?"

At first Arthur wasn't sure if it was meant to be sarcastic, but the Polish man looked quite genuinely concerned, so he shook his head.

"No, I mean…" His throat felt croaky, and he gave a dry cough; "I mean…You didn't have to help me, but—"

"-Like _as if_ I'm just gonna let you lie there and soak the floor," Feliks rolled his eyes and flung his hair back, silky strands shimmering; "So like, what happened to you? Why were you like all wet?"

Arthur didn't answer. Instead, he stared ahead, eyes unblinking and blank.

Feliks felt a little unnerved.

"…Arthur…?" He called, but the British man did not hear.

He was lost in his memories; mind overwhelmed by thoughts of the event that he was certain had just stripped him bare of all pride and dignity.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

…_Je…Je ne suis pas très sûr…_ – …I…I am not very sure…

_Oh, oui, oui…pardonnes-moi _– Oh, yes, yes…excuse me

_Je suis désolé, Alfred _– I am sorry, Alfred

**Notes: **Hello everyone, this is Hanzel with a few announcements to make in place for Follets.

She would like to express the biggest thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this story; who has added this story to their favorite or subscription list, and/or has left wonderfully kind reviews.

I have printed out the reviews from the previous chapter (Ch. 29) for her to read, and your encouraging words have really helped her get over the worst of times, so she would like me to tell you that she is extremely thankful towards all your support, and that your reviews are wholeheartedly appreciated.

She would like to apologize for the length of time it took her to get this chapter done, but things have been stressful, so it's been difficult to settle down and write. However, she has hopes for the best, and looks forward to the day of returning to you.

Please leave a few words if you can. As Follets have said before, they truly brighten her days above all else.

Thank you once again, and hopefully when the next time this story is updated, you will not be hearing from me, but from Follets instead. ; )

_~Hanzel_


	31. CASE3: H E, Failure

_Arthur didn't answer. Instead, he stared ahead, eyes unblinking and blank._

_Feliks felt a little unnerved._

"…_Arthur…?" He called, but the British man did not hear._

_He was lost in his memories; mind overwhelmed by thoughts of the event that he was certain had just stripped him bare of all pride and dignity._

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

Cloaked figures sat around him along the edge of the circle in which he stood in the middle of. Symbols and complicated designs intertwined and mixed into each other, making up a patterned arrangement of shapes and lines, beautiful and artistic, but it sure was a hell of a pain in the buttocks to draw, especially on the leather sheeting made specifically for this purpose.

Arthur's carefully looked over his spectators. Though the figures were cloaked, he knew exactly who they were, and he wished he didn't have to.

Nerves made his stomach churn; his insides were twisted into a dead knot, and, no matter how many glasses of whisky he'd drank prior to this, he was too clear-minded and anxious for them to make that much of a difference.

Usually he got tipsy pretty easily, which was what he was depending on to loosen the damned nerves, but apparently that plan didn't work out too well.

…Or it might be due to the big gulp of water he drank in worry that he would become too drunk that made the whisky not as effective?

Grumbling under his breath, he decided not to dwell on it and focus on the current task at hand.

Standing on the leather sheeting and facing a rather large alter with various items, some unrecognizable to the untrained eye, he was alone, despite of the fact that many parts of the ritual required two spell-casters. Timing was important; ingredients needed to be mixed at very specific progression points during the ritual. However, he was convinced he could do it, since he knew the proceedings better than the backs of his hands, and could recite all the details in his sleep.

He'd been doing nothing else but reviewing them, after all, since he didn't want to think about a certain insufferable, idiotic, eyebrow-patting—

…

Well…

He'd rather not think about it.

Each cloaked figure sitting around the circle held a candle, keeping the place very well-lit. Flames flickered though there was no wind, and added a warm hue to his sharp, green eyes, which were now staring intently in front of him.

In one of his hands, he held the horn of a bull, which had faint, carved lines along its sides and Latin words etched into it. In the other, he held a long staff, also specially made for the occasion. It had just arrived the day before.

It was long, and rather gnarly, looking grotesque with its dark colours and twisted, mangled form, despite being generally long and thin. There were different shards of crystals embedded at the tip, glinting under the light.

It was rather awkward with no spare hands, but he had to improvise as he had no partner.

When the final candle on the altar was lit by one of the few witches and wizards who still offered friendly company to him, he nodded thanks, and took a deep breath.

Another of those few, a boy looking to be in early teens, gave him a shaky, nervous smile.

He returned it, tightlipped, and wondered if his expression mirrored the boy's anxiety.

The final candle was lit; there was no turning back.

He took another deep breath, and closed his eyes.

When they reopened, determination and certainty filled them.

The ritual had begun.

He raised the staff, and, instantly, the complicated sigil drawn onto the leather sheeting began to emit a soft, eerie glow; it seemed to be sucking all the light from the candles. He took a breath, feeling his lungs expand, and spoke out words long lost to the race of man in a strong voice of authority, commanding and demanding attention.

He needed attention, especially from the sprites he was to borrow powers from.

Sprites, unlike spirits or demons, were completely without thoughts. They were neither good nor bad, and can be used for both good and bad. Powerful, yet awfully unstable, they were the main cause of many previously unexplained deaths of Occult novices experimenting with things they had yet understood. Sprites have no form, and were better explained as shapeless, boundless surges of energies, abundant yet very rarely used by enchanters.

It was like tempering with unknown chemicals – you'd never know when you might get seriously hurt.

To make matters worse, there really was no foolproof way to counteract it if something goes wrong. Unlike spirits or demons, which could be sealed inside objects or quarantined inside the possessed vessel, or simply be fought head on by a spell, sprites, free-moving bundles of immense power, could never be contained unless by extremely binding magic, which was a risk in itself.

It was still possible to try to directly deflect the damage of course should these soul-less beings become more harmful than helpful, but it'd be like trying to stop a speeding car with another speeding car – a last resort to disastrously save lives.

However, if one were careful and experienced enough, there were many benefits one can gain from getting aid from sprites, since they made whatever spell being cast many times more potent and effective.

Arthur was a careful and experienced wizard, and he believed that his father would not send him to do this ritual if it weren't carefully chiseled to perfection to the smallest of details and laced with protection for the caster.

But then again his father had expected him to be accompanied by another careful and experienced wizard, or, at the very least, another person to share the many tasks, even if it were simple ones such as lighting the incense, or things that could be easily instructed to do.

It was near madness to attempt to do the ritual by one self; however, it was not completely impossible.

Arthur, taking a step back, raised the staff higher, the last of the first commands echoing inside the vast, dark room everyone was currently in. Swinging it till the tip was pointed towards the altar, he began to draw a symbol in the air. The light reflected from the small crystal shards embedded in the staff lingered and hovered, connecting together into a complicated pentagram.

The earth began to give an even, rumbling tremble.

No one in the room was alarmed, since they were no longer actually inside the hotel where the conference was taking place, but in a different realm altogether.

This was to ensure that no civilians accidentally stumbled in, and that no spell casters could get out.

Not to mention the hotel itself would also be safe from anything that might happen.

As soon as the last stroke was drawn, the trembling stopped, though the low hum stayed.

Arthur, returning the staff upright to his side, swallowed, and walked forward, passing through the hovering pentagram.

There was a strange, tingling sensation as he passed through the smoke-like structure. It enveloped him much like a film of mist, and wrapped around his body.

At first there was nothing out of the ordinary, and then it came – a heavy pain deep inside his chest, not agonizing enough to cause him to fall over and cry out, but enough to cause great, almost unbearable discomfort.

This was expected, and was one of the many reasons that two people were ideal for performing this ritual, since they will share the pain and bear things together.

It slowly faded away as the pentagram seemed to seep through his clothes and into his body.

It was a protection barrier, most effective and often used for complex, dangerous spells since it literally shields every fiber of your being, absorbed into the body system.

However, like every shield, it can be torn away, or shattered.

When the last of the pain faded away, Arthur gave a relieved sigh. Though it wasn't too bad, he'd much rather be comfortable.

Straightening his posture more, he walked until he was right in front of the altar, and, setting the staff so that it leant on him, supported by the crook of his elbow, he grabbed the bull horn with his vacant hand. Now that one of his arms was completely free to do as it pleases, he reached over to one of the candles in front of him, loosely wrapping his fingers around the flame.

With a small, murmured incantation, it separated into two, one hovering inside his palm while the original remained where it was.

Slowly guiding it over to the big, stone bowl in the middle of the altar, he gave a small blow of air, and the hovering flame floated smoothly before dropping into the bowl and lighting the incense inside it.

Immediately a strong smell of strange spices filled the air. It stung his nostrils a little as it was thick. It wasn't half-bad, but its strength made it a little hard to stand.

Wrinkling his nose, Arthur waved his hand back and forth, trying to lessen the scent, but he didn't have much time to do that before he had to pour different oils and pre-mixed potions into the stone bowl.

Stirring the now somewhat sloshed contents, he breathed a sigh of relief as it began to emit a sweet aroma, though he kept it silent and unnoticeable by his onlookers.

He had made it fine so far into the ritual; it seemed that luck was on his side, for now.

The hum in the background began to rise into murmured sounds similar to soft breeze over an ocean of tall grass, shifting about and singing in harmony, as if attracted by the sweet scent.

The sprites were here, saying what humans could only understand as something akin to a "hello" to each other. They circled Arthur; he could feel them caress his arm as if curious, brush light touches through his hair as if being coy, and gather around his robes, making it flap in the air behind him.

It almost felt as though they had human characteristics, but Arthur knew better.

They were just temperamental, doing things, quite literally, for no apparent reasons whatsoever.

When the sweet scent began to exude out of the now thoroughly stirred mixture in frequent waves, the British man took the pestle out, putting it down gently onto a napkin and, at the same time, wiping it dry.

Taking a deep breath and struggling a little to lift the rather heavy stone bowl, he gave the contents a small sniff, before chucking it down as fast as he could.

As sweet as it smelt, it was still a little gross for drinking since it was made up of strange herbs and diluted by oils and juices from rare fruits.

Making a face, he put down the bowl, and tried to ignore how his stomach churned, growling a little as if in protest. But he didn't have time to will the slight nausea away, because the sprites were circling closer, almost suffocating him despite of being moving air.

Suddenly the sprites flashed, bright light slicing open the semi-darkness, and swirled around him in a dizzying, increasingly fast vortex. Without warning, they abruptly changed in their directions, and pierced through his body.

As painful as it looked, he didn't feel any sting, though a little startled.

While he didn't feel any sensations, it was still unnerving to see something stab into your body and then disappear.

Warmth began to spread slowly, radiating out from wherever the sprites hit and sunk into him. It didn't take long for heat to spread evenly inside his body.

He had started to glow very faintly, only a little brighter than the flickering candles.

_So far so good…_

He sighed in relief once more.

The bull horn returned to the hand that held it at the beginning of the ritual. Then he stood, back straight, holding both ritual apparatuses firmly.

With a strong swing, he raised them upwards, the staff vertical with the curved horn crossing it at a horizontal angle, almost as if in a beheading manner. He closed his eyes, and swallowed.

The real show was about to begin.

Focusing all his concentration, which was a little hard due to the sprites being rather disobedient personalities, he tried to put all his power into the tips of the staff and the horn.

They began to glow, or rather, started to give out wavering brightness, shinning like beacons.

The sprites bubbled inside him; excited perhaps? No…They didn't feel excitement, or any emotions, but their behaviours were strangely human. He could feel them crawling under his skin, coursing through his veins, seeping into his flesh yet not entirely becoming a part of him. They were rebellious, but he still had control.

Their powers were wild, but he had tamed them for now, though they still tried to defy it.

One of them, perhaps more adventurous than the others, swam against the current and shot upwards towards his chest. He winced; it was a sharp pain, but he had anticipated it.

He couldn't have imagined coming out of this ritual without experiencing _some_ sort of discomfort, especially since he was doing this by himself.

It was starting to get worse; the damned thing was flying through one of the biggest arteries of his body, going against the flow as the fleshy walls pulsed with his heart. In an instance, it crashed into the thumping organ.

"-AAARHG!" He gave a nasty jolt, a barely muffled grunt of sheer agony leaving his lips before he could stop it, eyes snapping open.

For a split second of panic-stricken fear, he had thought something was wrong, but the sprite stayed there, unmoving.

A strange feeling began to fill his chest.

From the corners of his eyes, he could see that some witches and wizards had half-risen in their seats, watching him with alarmed expressions. He shook his head slightly, easing their anxiety.

It wasn't a bad feeling, but it wasn't good either.

It gave him a surge of strength and a burst of powerful, magical energy, but then again, it was never a good thing to have something reside inside your heart.

The sprite wrapped around the organ, almost endearingly, and pulsed along with it.

Raising his staff and bull horn even higher, he took in a deep breath, biting down the urge to squirm in discomfort as his lungs expanded and pushed against his heart, which felt abnormally big. But he paid it no heed, and, in a loud, authoritative voice, spoke out strings of beautiful words.

They sounded like the wind whispering past old mountains; they sounded like the soft fluttering of leaves as they brush against each other. They sounded like the water sprinting down a rocky slope, splashing and ever flowing; they sounded like the mist hanging in the air in deep forests, where ancient and wondrous creatures dwelt.

They were words of an old tongue that none but a _very_ selected few still studied.

The sprites immediately responded, erupting into what felt like flames, combustions of sheer power.

It was a rush; it heightened his senses to no bounds and rendered his body completely under their spell.

It felt so good, like a sensual high.

Arthur shook, mildly aware of how he had begun to shake, biting hard on his lips to stop little hums from becoming louder than they were.

It made his spine tingle, similar to when Alfred had touched him intimately, yet very different.

This was suffocating, and unbearable in a way that was not all pleasurable.

It wasn't normal, after all.

It was then that he knew another reason his father repeatedly told him the importance of having a partner for the ritual.

Trying his best to ignore it, he spoke up once more. His voice lost some of its strength, replaced by small huffs. His cheeks flamed into redness, and he felt like he was standing on clouds.

He scowled as he realized something: the damned things were toying with him!

_Listen to me_, he thought; _listen to me well_.

After silent struggles, the sprites settled down, though they still burned with enthusiasm.

Pretty much straining out the last few words, Arthur broke into visible tremours of exertion as soon as he finished the first spoken spell, breaths in large gulps and feeling thoroughly exhausted. His legs felt like jelly, wobbly and weak, muscles a little cramped up as if he'd just climbed hundreds of stairs.

Well, it wasn't the hardest part yet.

Forcing himself to stand up straighter by pride as a Kirkland alone, he kept his arms raised. In a fluid motion, he turned the bull horn much like a door knob, snapping it into place along the same direction of the staff, tip pointing upwards.

There was an abrupt shift in the air as the sprites inside him jumped.

Nature's Laws were being broken, and dimensions were merging, separating, and twisting into each other.

The low hum at the beginning of the ritual started to grow, disturbed, as if in expression of dislike towards man's ambitions to rebel against nature's ways, but at the same time curious as to where this would lead to.

Arthur hoped with all his being that the curiosity will stay, for if he were to anger _anything_, he would be in immediate danger.

He was being watched by many things beyond any human's comprehension. The world did not exist as man's perception, and there were many mysterious forces that were beyond understanding.

One of them was perhaps lady luck, who he hoped had mercy for him on that day.

The air shifted; it felt as if it was being split open right in front of him.

_Nothing_…There was a feeling of _Nothing_ between the split where it parted.

The sprites inside him started to writhe as if trying to get out. They didn't like this and wanted nothing to do with it.

A thought suddenly raced through Arthur's head, a thought that perhaps they weren't as emotionless as people thought them.

The fear they seemed to exhibit was very real and strong inside his heart.

_Nothing_ stared back at him with inky blackness, unseen eyes watching all, but most of all, watching _him_.

His staff and horn tip was pointing right at _It_, as if in challenge.

That was the last thing he wanted _It_ to think.

With quivering lips, he spoke:

"…_I do not challenge you._"

If _Nothing_ had a face, it would've smirked in mockery.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Arthur was momentarily relieved. Another obstacle, luckily, was passed without much trouble.

Closing his eyes once again and slowly parting the staff and the horn, muttered words left his lips in quick succession one after the other. It wasn't long before his arms were outstretched to his sides, though still somewhat raised above him.

His whispers began to overlap each other. It was as if when one word was spoken, it never faded away, but hung in the air and was continuously being said. Moments after, a symphony of mumbled phrases became almost overwhelming in the room that appeared to have no boundaries. They grew louder as more joint in, like instruments coming together in layers and layers of sound.

It was quite impressive, but he took no time to have a closer listen and risk losing his focus.

The candle lights suddenly grew brighter as the sprites in his body started to give out swelling energies. They were prepared for what was to happen next, and so was he, though he was more unsure and anxious.

Arthur had to make sure he paid plenty of attention on noticing all the small, detailed changes within his body to monitor the sprites, as well as the ritual. The angle of his arms, his stance, the volume of his whispered enchantments, and even how quickly the candle flames flickered were key to the success of the ritual, if not to at least ensure he would come out of it alive should he screw things up.

Speaking of his arms, they were starting to stiffen and complain as muscles grew sore from holding them upwards.

Quickly dispelling the nagging thoughts, a spark of fear ignited in his heart for a second when one of the sprites tried to break free.

It almost did, but he caught it at the last moment possible.

He stopped murmuring, but the words he spoke were still in the air, much like the sounds of an organ.

They started to twist into a pattern, fitting in to make up an impaired piece of complicated music.

Opening his eyes and looking down at the altar, where a pile of cinder carefully wrapped inside a thick cloth was.

Anticipation was building; the final revelation of success or failure was rapidly approaching, where they would see, once and for all, whether elder Kirkland's modifications had solved the ancient problems and glitches in the ritual or not.

Arthur's eyes were unblinking, glassy orbs. Sweat began to form on his forehead as his concentration mounted, creating a gleaming sheen on his skin. This was the hardest part, moving both of his arms completely simultaneously. He had to make sure his movements were in perfect balance with each other, and that none met its destination faster than the other.

The music rose, compounding and rising in elevation.

The sigil on the leather sheeting under his feet suddenly burst into brilliant light, almost blinding in its intensity. He winced and squeezed close his eyes.

Wind began to pick up; the sprites inside him squirmed and began crying out in silent voices, and his body burnt. His robes flew high up in the air, billowing wildly like his hair.

The carvings on the bull horn began to shine as well, matching the brightness from the sigil, and his staff began to shake, as if an unseen force was trying to wrench it out of his hand.

His knuckles turned white from the effort of keeping it wrapped in his fingers.

Tense muscles cramping and shivering under the strain, Arthur bit his teeth and grunted in effort.

If Alfred were here, this would be no doubt much easier.

Everything started to shake. It was as if the very ground they stood on was no longer solid, but crumbling.

_Nothing_ was laughing hysterically.

Nature's Laws were being ripped apart mercilessly as time was forced to stall and reverse, leaving torn gashes in the fabric of reality.

Squeezed-shut eyes slowly opening to a narrow slit, a fleeting thought flashed across Arthur's mind.

_Why…Why was he risking his life and tearing open the world as he know it only to prove that the Laws could be broken and manipulated, and that man's ambitions truly knew no boundary?_

It only took a fleeting thought of barely a split of a second to break his concentration.

A scream suddenly erupted, and it took him several moments to realize that his throat was already raw from the piercing shrieks leaving his lips.

Things immediately spiraled out of control.

The shield that took so much effort to carefully put up shattered in an instance, and the sprites inside him burnt with him as offensive anger met his attempts at defying the Laws.

They screeched and twisted in pain, dying to get out from being imprisoned inside his body.

It was questionable whether they could actually feel, but as they were currently connected to him, it was possible that they experienced every bit of anguish he did.

Screams were never-ending. They felt not of his own.

Inside his heart, he felt surprisingly calm, as if he was merely looking through a pane of glass while his body suffered.

The bull horn suddenly exploded into thousands of splinters, showering down onto him like rain. It didn't hurt when they hit him; in fact, he could barely feel them, as every nerve inside his body was already in complete havoc at the overload of agony attacking his system.

His staff was the second to follow. With a nasty crack, it split in the middle, the lodged crystals at its tip falling to the floor, bouncing.

The air itself was in great pain; strong gushes of wind howled past his ears.

_Nothing_ quickly disappeared as the air mended the wound inflicted upon it by magic, though it looked like no easy task.

With all the screaming and overwhelming sensations wrecking his body, he did not notice tears falling from his eyes as if an overflowing waterfall, or how his muscles visibly twisted under his skin as if serpents hidden under film.

He reached for the candles.

It was the last resort, but he knew he was moments from being ripped apart.

If he could only overturn one candle, the ritual would be forced to end.

He would come out with torn muscles all over his body, and probably wouldn't be able to move for months, but he will come out alive.

But he couldn't…

…He couldn't reach it…

Fear burst forth amongst all the chaos, quickly followed by panic.

_No…_

_No…_

…_No…!_

_Just a little more—_

His hands were shaking so badly that he could no longer control them.

_-No—_

_..Please no—_

Suddenly, unbearable pressure compressed all around his body.

-Please—

His skull felt like it was being pressed against two hard surfaces meant to completely crush it.

-No—

His spine groaned. There was a force pulling, without hesitation, at his bones.

-No—!

They were going to be wrenched out of his body.

_-NO!_

He cried out as he felt a nasty yank on the vertebrae of his back.

Suddenly, an even more blinding light exploded into eye-watering brightness right beside him, and from it, a hand.

It flung out, and, without a single second of hesitation, grabbed onto one of the burning candles, clenching around the flame and the smoldering hot wax around it.

Instantly, everything combusted.

A force of unseen energy exploded in all directions.

The sprites were thrown out of his body, and he felt the tendons in his muscles began to stretch to their limits under the strain.

Suddenly, another hand came and grabbed onto one of his arms.

He could hear a screamed spell, a flurry of Latin words.

The sigil under them burst into flames, but he was only vaguely aware of it burning him, though his pants caught no fire.

The altar was kicked over, all of its contents crashing to the ground.

And, as abruptly as how it all began, with a deafening blast of invisible explosions, it stopped.

Silence was heavy and completely undisturbed as witches and wizards all stayed in their places, some hiding behind their arms while others simply curled into a protective position, faces shielded from the previous onslaughts.

It dragged on for minutes before the first movement was made by the young boy who was nervous at the beginning of the ritual.

He uncurled himself from his fetal position, the candle he was holding long forgotten as it lied, discarded, on the floor.

It was as if his movements broke a spell; everyone around him shook out of their stillness.

"…Arthur…?

…Arthur!"

Someone shook him.

His limbs felt heavy as if filled with lead, but surprisingly free of inevitable pain if the muscles were in fact torn up to shreds.

…_What happened…?_

He asked himself, but could not find an answer.

"-the circle. End the circle!"

A somewhat familiar voice cried out, tone edged, and laced with alarm.

The air instantly grew lighter, and he took in a breath, wheezing slightly and coughing as his lungs felt irritated.

"…Arthur?"

He forced open his eyes though it was difficult.

It was generally bright all around him instead of the semi-darkness he was used to.

…They were back in the hotel before it all began…before they moved to the space caught between dimensions with enchantments, where most experimental magic was performed to ensure that no unnecessary damage would be inflicted to anyone and anything that weren't involved.

He was half laid-down on the floor, being supported somewhat upright by an arm.

Hands were shaking his shoulders, trying to bring him to full alertness.

It worked, though confused him.

…_What happened…?_

…_What—_

Thoughts suddenly flooded into his head in an outburst, and everything came back to him in a flash.

…_He failed..._

…_He failed…_

…_A failure…_

It was only then when he realized his eyes were wide open, and that another pair met his blank stare.

…_Thorne…_

…_Andreas Thorne…_

…

…_Andreas..._

…_had saved him…_

The slimy little bastard looked so scared and stricken with worry that he almost laughed at how ridiculous the redhead appeared to him.

After all, the damned git now had something else other than his eyebrows to laugh at and gloat about…

He would've grimaced, barked out a cutting remark, and pushed Andreas away if it weren't for how then, he suddenly felt something else…

In an instance, feeling returned to the rest of his body, and he was immediately starkly aware of how wet and cold his pants were, especially around his crotch.

…Something hot and liquid still slid down along the insides of his thighs, seeping into the back of his trousers.

His bladder felt abnormally empty…

Andreas looked startled, and abruptly looked down, dark shock evident everywhere on his face.

Shame, disgust, humiliation…

They instantly overwhelmed him, twisting and drilling into his heart with a pounding fist. It shook all the air from his lungs as he, with wide, unblinking eyes, watched Andreas' expressions, horrified and aghast.

The redhead turned his eyes back upwards and met his own, but he did not see the intense, genuine worry and empathy swimming inside them.

All he saw was jeer and glee, dancing tauntingly and laughing silently.

"…Arthur—"

Tears washed down his cheeks before he could stop it, and, with a sudden rush of strength that was purely his last resort of adrenaline alone, he pushed Andreas away.

Ashamed, horror-struck, and choking on self-loathing, he pushed Andreas away, and ran out the door, broken sobs bursting out from his lips in dissonance.

Hotel employees all startled at the sight of him, and he shivered, fear bitter and cold amongst all the other burning emotions.

_Don't look at me…Don't look at me…_

_Please…don't look at me!_

He covered his face with his hands, and, despite of wanting to just curl up in a corner and hide away from all sight, ran past them.

He needed to get out of there.

His knees felt so weak that he could barely force them to catch up to how fast his mind was screaming at him to run.

Rain immediately splattered down onto him as he fled, pushing past the front doors of the hotel.

It almost hurt where raindrops hit him.

There was close to no one on the streets, and for that he was glad.

No longer able to hold back the emotions compressing around his heart with merciless claws, he burst out crying, face pulled into an expression of utmost anguish as tears fell faster than the rain.

Wailing and almost choking on loud sobs, he could run no more, and settled into a fast paced walk.

His clothes became drenched in no time, clinging to his body much like the way the wet spots on his pants did where they were soiled.

Cropped, blond hair stuck to his face, partially hindering his view, though, in truth, that hardly did anything since his eyes were almost squeezed shut, green orbs barely seen under pale eyelashes as large droplets of tears rolled down his cheeks, mixing with the rain.

It hurt.

It hurt so badly.

It hurt so badly, inside his chest.

It hurt so badly that he wanted to pry open his ribcage and wrench the thumping organ out.

And it wasn't due to the physical strain his body had undergone through from the failed ritual.

…Alfred…

…He wanted to see Alfred…

If Alfred were here, this wouldn't have happened…

Alfred would never let this happen…

If he weren't such a stubborn, prideful _fool_ and listened to Matthew when he had the chance, this wouldn't have happened.

He could blame no one but himself.

And look where it led him…

...A failure…Shame to his family…Alone…Without anyone to comfort him…

Shivering from the cold and wails now dimming to shaky whimpers, his feet took him down the street, toward the place where he would find someone who was probably now the only friend he had.

He needed somewhere to hide away, a refuge from the world, and Feliks was the only one around town that he knew.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Notes:** Hi all, it is Hanzel again with more news from Follets.

Things are slowly starting to look up for her: her aunt has voluntarily decided to purchase a new computer for her to use. She has not purchased it yet (when that will happen is still unknown), but it is a ray of hope for Follets.

The next chapter, as Follets told me, will come quicker to make up for the shortness of this one. There is a surprise return of a character that you all love, so she hopes that it will appease you for the time being.

I printed out the reviews from the last chapter again for Follets to read; they made her incredibly happy and thankful, so it would be great if there could be more for her to read. I think it makes her write a little faster, so it is a win-win situation for everyone, no? : )

I even saw some comments regarding myself, which surprised me a bit since I haven't really done much, but thank you! I really appreciate it.

Follets sends you lots of love and kisses, and, as she wanted me to say, super squishy hugs.

Until next time, or maybe not if Follets returns,

_~Hanzel_


	32. CASE3: H E, Change

**Author's Notes:** I'M BACK! …For now. XD

I will leave the explanation to my inexcusable lateness in updating after the chapter is over; please hear me out before throwing things at me! ;_;

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

…

_...A failure…_

…_Shame to his family…_

…_Alone…_

…_Without anyone—…_

…_for comfort…_

…

"…Arthuuur~~?" Feliks waved his hand back and forth in front of the British man's eyes, which were blank, staring, and unblinking.

"…Arthur!" He snapped his fingers in front of them, and the prone figure on the sofa jumped.

"Finally! Gosh! You were starting to like _really_ freak me out with your staring, you know!" The Polish man sighed.

He opened his mouth to ask his patient if he wanted anything to eat or drink, but the words immediately died.

Tears were rolling down, disappearing as they seeped into the cushions under Arthur's head. They fell soundlessly like cascading pearls as the Brit blinked, lips quivering and eyebrows furrowed deeply in silent anguish.

Feliks was taken back, and gasped in dismay.

"Oh my God! Little Artie? Are you—Are you hurt or something?" He fussed, alarmed, and wished "Liet" was there to help.

"…Al—…Alfred—" A whisper left the pale lips.

The Pole didn't understand, shaking his head in anxious confusion, silky hair waving gently around his face. "Who—"

"-Phone…Phone…Please—"

Feliks shot up from his spot in a flurry of ruffled skirts and ran to get the phone.

"_-Please—_!"

Dropping down to his knees by Arthur's side, he almost accidentally hit the Londoner on the head when giving him the phone.

Arthur grabbed it right away as if a lifeline. With badly shaken hands, he turned it on, and pressed the number he knew better than his own.

His fingers shook, and he missed a button.

Cursing and biting down a wave of distress, he tried again, and was much more successful the second time around.

The last button was pressed, and he quickly held it to his ears.

There was a pause before the dialing tone rang.

He waited, and held his breath.

And then there was a click.

"…_Hello…?_"

His breath hitched in his throat.

His bright green eyes, shinning with tears and wide, stared ahead as if in disbelief at what he was hearing.

"…_Hello?_"

Pale lips parted, and a small gasp was taken in.

"…_Ok, who the hell is this? Do you have any idea what time it is where I am?_"

"…Alfred…" A weak smile tugged his lips slightly upward, but it wasn't happy.

More tears fell, and the pillow under his head soon had large wet marks, spreading and soaking through.

"…Alfred—"

There was no reply, only a low hum in the background.

Suddenly scared that the other had hung up, he clutched the phone, breaths short and coming in and out in quickening paces, eyebrows furrowing deeply once more.

"-Al-Alfred—!"

~o0o0o~

Alfred slept like a log.

He snored softly into the pillow he was unknowingly humping, hair a complete tousled mess and pajamas pants halfway down his thighs from his moving about, exposing his boxers with little aliens printed all over them.

The American wore no shirt, though his naked chest was covered by a thick blanket, which was tangled around his legs. He took up the entire bedding arrangement meant for two with his strange, diagonal sleeping position.

There was a nice, peaceful silence, something he really appreciated, since he hadn't been able to sleep well at the hospital.

He kept on worrying about his phone, which, at that time, was still left behind in the mansion after the team's narrow escape from the spirit's katana.

What if Arthur called him?

Though that was unlikely, since as hard as he tried to get a hold of the British man with Yao's phone, it never went through.

Nonetheless, after they took their look at the stone turtle and the well, he had gone in and retrieved the electronic device, which survived many nights on haunted grounds.

_Doesn't hurt to have it just in case…_

This was perhaps his first night of steady, deep sleep since being dropped off at the hospital.

Unbeknownst to the others and maybe even surprising to some, he'd been rather restless, which was almost contradictory to his careless, optimistic attitude. There was always a nagging worry poking at him continuously, and it wouldn't leave him alone. However, as soon as he got his own phone back close to him, he felt a little better, and, probably due to three nights of flimsy sleep and maybe also the nice warm bath he had, as soon as he plopped down onto the comforter, he started snoring away.

All was well, until about one in the morning, when…

…_RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!_

"-AAARGH—_FUCK_!"

He leapt in the air, jumping from fright at the sudden, loud sound cutting through stillness.

He forgot to set his phone to silent, or at least to a softer ring tone.

Grabbing it without much thought and heart still racing from being horribly startled, he flipped it open as he flopped down once more to the beddings, briefly catching sight of the time.

Almost muffling his face into the pillow, he answered:

"…Hello…?"

There was no sound, only a low hum of light static.

"…Hello?"

He frowned, and thought he heard a small gasp, though it might've been his imagination.

Annoyed at having a good dream of free cheeseburger day at a French restaurant run by a man who looked suspiciously like Francis interrupted at odd hours of the night, he pouted at no one in particular and spoke louder:

"…Ok, who the hell is this? Do you have any idea what time it is where I am?"

"_-Alfred…_"

He froze, eyes flying open.

The voice was weak, and a little croaky, but it was as if splitting thunder to his ears.

"…_Alfred—_"

Heart beating loudly and shakily inside his chest, he suddenly grew nervous, fingers tightening around the phone.

…It must be—It must be his mind playing tricks on him…

It couldn't…It couldn't possibly be—

"_-Al-Alfred—!_"

He instantly shot up from the comforters, vibrant blue eyes piercing through the dark.

He could barely believe what he was hearing.

"_-Arthur?_ Arthur, is that you?"

There was another slight pause, but it was only brief.

"…Alfred—" There was a small, hitching breath, and suddenly broken sobs burst forth from the other end of the phone.

Alfred stiffened, back painfully straight, staring intently at the air in front of him with an expression of shock.

He tried to speak, but he could only make strangled sounds that died halfway out in his throat.

"Ar-Arthur…? What's—…What happened?" He finally managed to blurt out, now fully awake.

Arthur continued to splutter, making small, muffled weeping noises, breaths shivering.

"Arthur—Arthur," The American, blinking quickly and running his vacant hand through his hair, did not know what to do. In truth, he was a little flustered, as he had never encountered such a situation with anyone. However, also due to that fact, his worry for the Brit skyrocketed.

But that was not all.

His heart began to throb as Arthur continued to cry, sounds unclear and bitten back, and he knew the other man was trying to hide the fact that he was sobbing his eyes out to someone over the phone.

He sounded so sad, so much in pain.

Alfred bit his lips, shifting in his sitting position as his own eyes began to prickle, along with the stabbing sensations inside his chest; Arthur sounded so upset and hurt for reasons he did not know, and he hated the fact that he was not with the Londoner to at least pull the smaller man into a tight hug.

His heart pained worse each time it beat. It felt as if a hole was being dug deeper and deeper each time Arthur's breaths shook and a broken sob could not be held back.

…_Damnit!_

Alfred wanted to punch something.

He was supposed to be the hero, damnit!

"Arthur? Arthur, listen to me," His voice was even and firm, much steadier than how he felt; "Listen…you can tell me what happened."

"…I—…" A whimpered gasp cut Arthur's voice off.

"What happened, Arthur?" He tried again, trying to make his voice as gentle and comforting as possible. "It's okay, yeah? You can tell me."

"-I-I—" A hitched breath interrupted, but Arthur spoke on: "-I'm—I'm sorry—"

Alfred frowned; "What do you mean?"

"I—I'm sorry I—" A choked back, frustrated groan mixed with a teary whine broke through, and the American wanted to say that it was alright, but the British man continued on before he could: "D-Damnit…Damn this—!"

"…Arthur—…"

"Damn this…!" Uneven, shivering breathing could be heard; "I—I'm just—"

Hiccups shook through. "—I'm—…I'm—"

There was a tense pause, building up to the admittance of something that neither expected:

"…—I'm sorry I didn't let you make love to me—!" There was a splutter, and suddenly Arthur was crying, breaths loud and harsh, sobs unhindered, straining against the force trying to keep them back.

Alfred looked stricken, mouth hanging open.

He didn't know what to think.

The statement hit hard, punching him in the chest, where a deep void was being hollowed.

He couldn't think, because he suddenly couldn't understand why he wasn't with Arthur, why they had gotten into that stupid argument, why he had said what he did on the plane before flying to Japan, and how everything had spiraled into how they were.

He opened his mouth; he had to say something.

_Say something!_

Empty air left his lips, dissipating before they even begun.

He was never one good with words, and it had never truly bothered him until now.

Time was ticking by, and each second it passed the bursting agony he felt at being unable to express his most dire emotions twisted and drilled more mercilessly into him.

_Say something!_

Blank thoughts raced through his head, and they were too complicated for him to understand.

Questions filled his mind; they spoke to him – his own voice spoke to him, in contempt, in anger, in blame.

How could he have been so _stupid_…?

What had he ever achieved in his relationship with Arthur after all that's happened?

What else had they ever done aside from having petty little arguments over nothing that escalated into more trouble than they could handle?

…And before they even did anything to solve those problems, he tried to get the other man into public fornication in the middle of a hallway…

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed them with his free hand, biting back the burning feeling behind his eyelids.

"…D-Don't say that! —Don't be such an idiot!" He didn't know who he was speaking to, and heard himself give a weak laugh, and it sounded heartbreaking even to his own ears; "What are you—What are you apologizing over that for…?"

_If anyone, I should be the one apologizing…_

"Sh-Shut up!" Arthur's voice trembled along with a sharp gasp.

And he gave a bitter smile; "…You know I won't, Artie…" Hiding his face behind his hand, he bit down his jaws.

…How he wished he was truly like the heroes in all those comic books he loved since he was a child; how he wished he could instantly be at Arthur's side and fight away all that was hurting the upset man.

But he wasn't, and he felt like it was tearing him apart.

He took a deep, shaky breath, willing the pain inside his heart away.

"Arthur…Arthur," He said when he felt that he finally had his emotions somewhat under control, "Arthur, tell me, what happened?"

At first, no answer met his question.

Soft noises continued, but there weren't any replies.

Alfred waited, biting his lips.

"-I—…"

It was immediately cut off as the British man swallowed down his next words as though he didn't want to say them.

But he couldn't hold them back:

"I—I just—"

Arthur swore as more choked back sobs cut into his speech:

"…I just want to see you!"

…

…

…It hung in the air, the shock and the helplessness.

Alfred's usually vibrant eyes were stormy as they stared intently forward, lips apart by a silent gasp, emotions flashing bright in the dark.

"—I just want to see you, alright?"

It was almost hissed, almost too rough.

…

…

…He didn't know what to do.

Sitting on the beddings, he was frozen by the many thoughts racing through his head.

…Too many thoughts…

…Too many emotions…

He wished nothing more than to be with Arthur, but he was bound by duty.

He was bound by duty that he felt was suddenly suffocating him.

He couldn't leave his team, especially not when they needed him for the exorcism, but Arthur—…

"…_Fuck…_" He ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands harshly.

He couldn't just sit here and do nothing for Arthur either.

_What do I do…_

_What do I do…?_

Rubbing his eyes, he knew he was losing the battle within himself, but he didn't even know which side to fight for – his heart, or his logic.

He wished someone could tell him what to do.

He wished he didn't have to make his own decision just this once.

He didn't want to let his friends down – to let his team down.

But he didn't want to let Arthur down either.

He felt so torn.

"-Arthur…"

Whatever happened was bad enough to cause the British man to undergo a terrible breakdown, Alfred knew that much, but—…

But he couldn't just get up and leave, and it's—

He squeezed his eyes shut as a jabbing sting erupted from his core.

…And it's_ killing _him.

"…Arthur, listen to me; come on, listen to me." Blinking away another wave of agonizing sensations, he opened his eyes and willed his heart to stop clenching into tight knots. "I—…" His throat constricted, but he managed to croak out: "…The case—…

"…I can't—…

"—At-At least—…At least not _now_ I—…"

Arthur suddenly went silent, completely, deadly silent.

"…Arthur…?" Alfred called out, so tentative that it was unlike himself.

…

At first, the reply was so quiet that he could barely hear it.

He strained his ears, not knowing what to expect.

And then he heard it...

"…_Damn you_…" The whisper was so soft that it almost passed off as a mere breath, but the contempt behind those two, simple words was so strong that it made Alfred freeze into a statue, hurt splitting through the urgent need to explain himself.

"W-Wait—!" He spluttered; "No! No, Arthur! It's not—It's not what you think—"

"…_Damn you, Jones!_" An angry, wounded, but most of all betrayed shout cut in.

"-Arthur! It's not—"

"_Damn you!_" Arthur started to cry, devastating disappointment clear inside each sharp breath he took.

"-I'll—As soon as I can—" Alfred clutched the phone, desperately trying to make the other man understand, but it was futile.

"_-Fuck your excuses!_" A scream cut in.

"-Arthur!"

"No!"

"L-Listen to me, damnit!"

"NO!"

"Just—"

"Fuck you, Jones!"

"-let me—"

"_FUCK YOU!_"

"-ARTHUR—"

-Silence.

…

…Silence…

Alfred sat on the beddings, eyes staring blankly and lips apart, completely still and unmoving.

…Silence—

Why was there only silence…?

…

Why was there only silence…?

"…Arthur…?"

He could barely hear his own whisper.

"…Arthur…?"

No response.

No reply.

Nothing…

…Just—…nothing…

Suddenly, sheer agony burst through inside him.

His heart squeezed into itself, and it was hard to breathe.

It hurt without a single moment of relief.

It was as though someone had pried his ribcage open and gouged out his heart, leaving only a wide, gaping hole inside his chest.

But only much worse.

He dropped the phone; his hand was shaking too violently to hold it any longer.

His eyes burned; they burned so badly that tears wouldn't even come out.

With trembling hands, he covered his face, and whispered to himself.

"_Heroes don't cry…_

_Heroes don't cry…_"

He told himself like a mantra.

"_Heroes don't cry…_"

And he didn't.

Because at that moment, he made up his mind.

At that moment, he realized something important.

He realized that sometimes, you have to be able to love the one most important to you before you can be a hero.

Throwing the blanket off, he flung open the door and walked down the hall, expression solemn, and determined.

He knocked on the door several paces away from his, the sound disruptive and loud, and could not wait for an answer.

Pulling it open, he looked down and caught sight of Matthew and Francis curled up against each other, only just starting to awaken.

"I'm sorry Mattie," He spoke, and tried to keep his voice even, but it shivered; it sounded alien even to himself, but he only chose to ignore it. "I'm really sorry, but I made up my mind."

"…What…?" Matthew, blinking bleary eyes, looked up, confused.

"Wait till I return, just a few days at most, yeah?" He tried to give his usual bright grin, but it wavered much like his faltering optimism; "I'll come back and do what I need to do for the exorcism, but right now—…_right now_ I need to—I need to—"

The Canadian had pushed himself up into a sitting position, reaching for his glasses, while Francis was up on his elbows.

"-I—I need to go to London and-and—"

"London?" Matthew asked.

"-Y-Yeah…Arthur—…Something happened to Arthur and—"

A loud gasp of dismay interrupted him. "-What happened?" There was an edge of urgency in the strawberry blonde's voice as he questioned, instantly assuming the worst.

"He—he just called me; he sounded—…very upset—"

"-And you didn't ask him what happened?" The Canadian's sharp tone made Alfred wince, but, luckily, the upcoming exclaims were muffled by a large, gloved hand. It was gentle, but firm.

"_Non, mon petit, pas maintenant._" A light, brief smile from the Frenchman seemed to have calmed Matthew a little, at least enough to settle him down from crying out in panic fueled by Alfred's uncharacteristic behaviour, as fleeting as it was.

Francis turned, and looked back at Alfred searchingly. His worried gaze was so intense that the American found it hard to hold, so he looked down, and took many silent breaths through his nose before speaking:

"…I'm sorry; I really am, but I—…I really don't have the time to explain. Th-There's just something—…with Arthur—…He—…I—I mean—…_I_ don't even know what's really going on! I-I just need to—…I just need to—…If—If only I knew! If only I knew I'd—…I'd—"

"-Go, _mon ami_." The smile reappeared on Francis' face, small and understanding. His expression was warm with encouragement and support; "Pursue _l'amour_, _oui~_?"

For a moment, it looked as if Alfred was going to break apart, but he bravely held everything together, and flashed a teary, brilliant grin instead.

Giving two thumbs up, he nodded firmly:

"Yeah…you're right.

"If I can't even be Arthur's hero, how can I be the world's?"

~o0o0o0o0o~

"-Alfred—" Yao sighed, and muttered exasperatedly under his breath as he caught up with the running American, "Your ticket, aru!"

"What?" Alfred suddenly hit a halt so abruptly that the Chinese man crashed into his back; "What are you talking about? I have it in my pocket—"

"It fell out, aru!" The dark-haired one rubbed his nose, which was a little red from the impact when he bumped face first into the taller blonde's back, and held up the slip of paper, giving another sigh.

"Oh! Thanks, man! I owe you one," A bright, thankful grin appeared on Alfred's face as Yao handed him his ticket.

"Honestly, Alfred, slow down. As pressed for time as you are, you still have enough." The shorter man chided, and the two started walking again at a more reasonable pace.

"Yeah, but I just thought that the sooner I get on the plane the better," The American gave a semi-apologetic smile; "Not that I don't like being in Japan with you guys of course." The wheeled luggage case he tugged after him wobbled a little, and he quickly straightened it with his only available hand.

"I know, aru," Yao, holding Alfred's take-on bag, reached out to help the still somewhat handicapped blonde; "I was surprised when you suddenly barged into my room in the middle of the night, but I understand."

"Thanks," Alfred said, but paused. He turned, bright eyes catching his friend's in a deep gaze of sincerity and gratitude, "Thank you, seriously, for everything."

The Chinese man blinked a few times, a little unused to seeing this side of the American; after a brief while, he gave a small nod and a warm smile:

"Don't worry about it, aru; if I were in your situation, I would do the same."

The taller man blinked once, and asked:

"…So…why didn't you?"

Yao was taken back by the question.

"…What?"

"I mean," Alfred shrugged, "You could've gone to Russia for Ivan, yeah? It's not like they don't have Chinatown over there."

At first, Yao didn't know what to say, staring back, rendered speechless. A few short moments passed before he finally answered:

"…It's-It's not _that_…Chinatown isn't the problem, aru…" A few fallen strands of long, dark hair was tucked back behind pale ears; "It's different than you going to London, Alfred. Arthur is free to go wherever he wants, but Ivan has to stay in Russia. There are many reasons I chose not to go, at least for now." Eyes in a deep, warm shade of dark brown looked downwards. "…Ivan has too many things on his hands, so the last thing he needs is me going with him to add more to his burdens."

"You won't be a burden." The blonde frowned, and Yao gave him a smile.

"Thanks, aru, but in reality that's what I'll become." When the other man continued looking confused, the dark-haired one sighed; "I don't speak any Russian, aru, and I know nothing about life in Russia, so Ivan will have to take care of me. Also, aside from my job with your agency, I have other things I need to do for my family. There are reasons I was sent to New York, aru, so I can't just ignore them and promptly leave for a long time without taking care of them first."

"So what _are_ you doing in New York besides working with us?" Vibrant blue eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously; "…I hope you're not doing anything illegal…"

"No, aru!" Yao rolled his eyes and felt the strongest urge to smack Alfred on the head; "It's more personal matters than anything, but it's perfectly legal, I promise."

"Yeah, I know; I was just teasing ya," The American laughed a little with a small shrug.

Shaking his head, the Chinese man returned the laugh with a small chuckle of his own. Turning to the side, he stilled as he caught sight of a large clock on the wall.

"…Why are we talking about this, aru? Even though we have enough time we're still on a tight schedule!"

"Oh! Right!" Alfred took one look at the clock and cursed under his breath. "-Ahh, shit!"

Without another word, he turned on his feet and took off.

Yao jolted a little at the sudden movement, and quickly called out:

"-Wait—Alfred—"

"-What are you standing there for? Come on! I can't miss the flight!" The blond head didn't even look back.

"-C-Come back, you idiot! That's the wrong way, aru!"

The American almost tripped on his feet, and Yao sighed for a third time that night, rubbing his tired eyes.

Wondering if he really made the right decision when choosing to accompany Alfred by himself, he pointed to the right direction, and had to yank the anxious blonde back from running all over the place aimlessly again.

"So what's gonna happen with the exorcism?" Alfred asked, standing outside of the security check stations and holding his take-on bag, his luggage already taken care of. He knew he didn't have much time to allow for stalling, but he was concerned about how the case was going to work out, as none of his teammates seemed to like the idea of waiting for him to come back first, though no direct objections were made.

"Don't worry about that; we'll figure something out, aru." The shorter man patted his arm gently, careful to avoid where he knew the bandages were; "Focus on finding Arthur, and don't forget to dress your wounds everyday. Everything you'll need for that is in that little package I gave you."

"Got it." The American gave a thumb-up; "Oh, and about the ticket, I'll pay you guys back—"

"Yes-yes-yes! We'll talk about that after, aru. Hurry up and go now." Yao, wearing a small, supportive smile, gave him a push towards the security gates.

"Okay; okay! I'm going. I'm going."

Alfred returned the smile, and, trying his best to give a small wave with his wounded arm, jogged off towards the security check.

"I'll see you guys soon! Don't have too much fun without me, yeah?" He called out before disappearing around the corner.

Yao, laughing a little, shook his head. Silently wishing his American friend the best of luck, he turned around, thoughts deep and heart a little heavy as the situation reminded him of a similar one where he had to send away someone dear to somewhere far.

~o0o0o0o0o~

By the time Yao returned to the side house, dawn had already arrived with soft light misting across the dark sky. Carefully taking off his shoes and putting them down so that they made no noise, he silently went back to his room without alerting the others of his return.

The house was quiet, which meant the others had probably gone back to sleep, and he didn't want to disturb them.

Kiku arrived as soon as he was informed of Alfred's hasty depart, concerned about the American's wellbeing and offering to help out however he could. He was the one who looked up the flight-times and took care of the booking, though did not personally pay for it after much insisting protests from the blonde.

The Japanese man had wanted to see Alfred off, but after deliberation it was decided to be not a very good idea, since his presence would make a scene at the airport, which was what they've been trying to avoid.

Yao didn't know where his future brother-in-law was, but had an inkling of a feeling that he was probably resting in the side house somewhere.

Matthew and Francis helped Alfred pack, who was too anxious and restless to really do much proper packing. It was hard to pick out what he needed and didn't need with a fretful mind, so the couple volunteered themselves to do it for him.

The two wanted to tag along as well, but a bunch of foreigners running around the airport at odd hours before sunrise would also create a scene, especially with Francis' flashy sense of fashion. It was also decided to be not a very good idea, so they settled for a brief, but heartfelt goodbye instead.

Alfred, right before he left, had tried to get everyone in a short meeting discussing immediate plans for the case. However, no one was very keen on talking about it, as distracted as they were by his sudden depart.

Yawning and thinking to catch some shut-eye before the day officially started, Yao took off his jacket and pants. Wearing only a long shirt and undergarments, he snuggled under the thick blankets and sighed in comfort.

He was just drifting into sleep when his phone suddenly buzzed, startling him a little.

Groaning in slight annoyance, he felt around with a hand, eyes remaining closed. When his fingers finally touched the vibrating device, long seconds have already passed.

"…Hello…?" He mumbled as he pressed it to his ear.

"Yao?" A familiar, childlike voice spoke through.

"…Ivan, aru?" Yao's eyes blinked open in slight confusion; "…Isn't it late where you are?"

"Da, after midnight." Ivan answered.

"…Don't you—…Don't you have work early in the morning?" The Chinese man stifled a yawn; "You shouldn't stay up, aru…"

"I…I switched shift…with a coworker…" There was a hesitant timber in the Russian's voice; it was as if he was thinking of what to say as he was saying it, but it quickly went away as he talked on: "Don't worry, Yao; I will take good care of myself, da~~!"

Yao frowned a little.

"…Is something wrong, aru?"

"Нет; нет…" There was a slight pause, "How—How are you?"

"…Hmm?" The Chinese man's frown turned more towards bewilderment at the sudden change of direction in the conversation; "I'm…I'm fine; I just got back from sending Alfred to the airport, aru…"

"Airport?"

"Yeah, something happened to Arthur, so Alfred is on the plane to London," Yao explained, "But no one really knows exactly what happened, aru…Arthur didn't say on the phone."

"Oh…"

Silence hung between them; it was clear that there was something Ivan wanted to say, but for whatever reason he was not saying it.

Not having the faintest clue as to what it was, Yao chose to interrupt the silence:

"So…How are _you_, Ivan? How has work been?"

"Work is alright; I am very good at making cotton candy now, so the shop owner started teaching me how to make other things, like big lollipops. They are swirly and very pretty, da~!" In a cheer-like tone, Ivan answered, but it sounded a bit off than his usual exclaims, as though he was distracted by something.

"That's great, aru!" Yao smiled, and waited for the other man to say more, but none came.

"…Ivan…?"

"…Yao, I—…Well…" There was a long pause, "-There's—There's something that I need to—"

Suddenly, loud, panicked voices came into earshot from outside in the hallway, and Yao turned his head.

They came closer and closer; he heard a door sliding open, and another voice joining in, trying to calm the frenzied chorus. He recognized the voice to be Kiku's.

"…Yao?"

The dark-haired man blinked, snapping out of his momentary distraction:

"I'm sorry, Ivan; did you say something?"

"Нет…What was that?" It seemed that the chatters were loud enough to be picked up through the phone.

"I'm not sure, aru…" Yao pushed himself up onto his elbows.

He could pick out words here and there, but there were too many who spoke too quickly all at once. He could hear fear-filled sobs, and hard-edged voices laced with anxiety.

He didn't need to understand to know something was horribly wrong.

Kicking on his pants with mild difficulty with one hand, since the other held the phone to his ear, he gave worried looks to the door.

"I'll check it out, aru."

"Da~ I will call you back later then."

"No, that's fine; you can stay on the line if you want, aru." From experience, Yao knew that Ivan was rather curious, and probably wanted to know what was happening.

"Нет, I will call you—"

"No, it's fine really, Ivan."

"-I will call you—"

"-No; no, I really don't think they'd mind—"

"-**Нет**, Yao_._"

Yao paused in dressing himself, slightly taken back and surprised at the firm tone.

"…I—…I mean…I should-I should go to bed like Yao suggested, da…? I will call Yao tomorrow or something…" Ivan sounded almost disheartened, and that was quite alarming.

"Ivan, is something bothering you? You can tell me if something's wrong." Trying hard to think back on everything he did, he couldn't remember anything that might've offended or hurt the Russian, so he knew it wasn't him.

Perhaps something happened at work?

"It's okay, Yao; it can wait. You have to check what is happening where you are, da? It might be connected to the case." There was a note of finality, and Yao knew he wouldn't get any more out of the other man even if he insisted.

"Alright…If you say so, aru…" Pursing his lips and brushing back long strands of silky, dark hair, he added on quickly: "You know you can tell me anything, Ivan. Whenever you need to reach me, just call."

"…Da~" There was a small smile in the soft voice, and Yao felt a little more comforted.

After a brief goodbye, the Chinese man finished putting on his clothes. With a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he decided that his appearance was good enough for company, and walked over to the door before sliding it open.

The voices all fighting to be heard died down as Kiku turned his eyes away from the frightened household employees. Catching Yao's inquiring look, he sighed, ashen-faced.

"…What happened?" Yao asked carefully.

Another door slid open, and Matthew poked his head out of it, hair still slightly messed but eyes bright and attentive. Francis appeared into view a moment after, wearing a small frown and a silk robe.

Kiku pursed his lips, dark eyes glinting with dread.

"…Someone was killed just outside the mansion grounds…

…His head and limbs were completely severed…as if by a sharp blade…"

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:** (Because I haven't done this in a while and some of you might've forgotten XD)

_pas maintenant_ – not now

_mon ami_ – my friend

Нет – no

**Ending Notes:** Dun dun DUN—!

Cliffy love? :D –is smacked–

AHEM! Anywaaaaaays…I'm at my grandparents' place now!

The reason this chapter came so late was 'cause I had to move from my aunt's place; she's on a business trip, and I will be moving back with her once she comes back.

I know I told Hanzel to tell you guys last update that this chapter was coming quicker, and I'm really sorry I didn't hold up that promise! ;_; I did have it finished, but I didn't like it all that much, so I wanted to fix it up. And before I knew it I was rewriting everything.

So this chapter came a lot later than I intended…I'm so sorry! –grovels–

Despite of how some of you might be angry at me for updating so late (a-and I really am sorry about that! ;_; ), I'm happy to be back! At least for now.

I'll be using my grandparents' computer when they aren't using it. And in case anyone wonders what they do on the computer…they play computer games! LOL

I'm so happy that Ivan is returning to the story. I have a whole awesome subplot involving him that's gonna give you guys a taste of the fourth case, which I have many exciting, omg-I-can't-wait-to-show-you-guys plans for. ; )

There is also another reason Alfred has to go to London aside from rescuing poor, little Artie that has to do with the fourth case as well.

I'm seriously having so much fun with this story like y'all have no idea, and I really hope you're having just as much fun as me! –tackle-hugs–

Anyways, I should go before I end up typing another essay ending note. LOL But before I go, I would just like to give you guys SUPER BIG THANKS for being seriously the most awesome bunch of awesome people ever! Your support and kind reviews and everything make me all sappy and sniffly from happiness.

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH—! ;_;

Never forget that.

–hearts and smothering kisses–

Ps: I'm still working on the review-thanks special; I think you guys will like how long it is and the person it will feature as the protagonist. –wink, wink–


	33. CASE3: H E, Unexpected Developments

**Author's Notes:** I will let you guys read first before trying to dissuade y'all from throwing things at me out of anger at how late this update is…

…But please don't hurt me too bad! ;_;

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

Ivan placed the phone down and sighed, violet eyes staring downward as a small, troubled pout formed unknowingly on his lips.

There was a shuffle close by before a sweet, timid voice called out:

"…_Ivan…?_"

The Russian man sighed again, and turned around, a small smile wavering on his face.

"_It's okay, Yekaterina. We should figure this out ourselves anyways, yes?_"

Yekaterina, sitting attentively from her spot on the couch, hummed a little and nodded, though worry still darkened her pretty features.

She was a nervous young woman, and often got teary over little things. Looking at her now, Ivan was reminded of how much thinner and frailer she'd gotten, compared to what he remembered of her being before he left Russia. This made him sad because it showed just how long he had been away, and, despite of trying her best to be strong, how much she really needed him.

She was wearing hairclips, the ones he'd sent her from overseas as presents for her most recent birthday, which arrived by mail. They kept her hair, which framed her cheeks pleasantly, away from falling into her eyes, but he knew she wore them for much deeper reasons than just that. Dressed in a long, cotton sleeping gown with ruffles as collars and sleeves with lacy cuffs, her hands were wrapped around a cup of hot milk sitting on her lap on top of a small plate. As much as she tried to sit up straight, it was a little difficult due to the size of her breasts, which she tried to be humble about by curling her shoulders into herself.

She was currently eyeing the black suitcase on top of the dining table cautiously, as if expecting the thing to suddenly jump up and snap at people.

It remained still and harmless, though that didn't stop her staring.

And she had every right to; Ivan sighed again, looking over to it as well.

It was a suitcase full of stacks of cash weighing so much that Yekaterina could hardly lift it when she tried. They had only gotten a glimpse of the inside of it, but neither wanted to open the cover again to check if the cash was genuine.

Not that they really needed to.

They knew it was real…

~o0o0o~

The day had begun normally enough.

Ivan got up, showered, and had just finished making breakfast when his sister came out of her room, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

They ate together, conversing happily.

Afterwards the two got ready for the day, and left their apartment together, walking down the street before going separate ways towards different bus stops.

Work was fun, though pretty much the same as usual. Ivan arrived right on time, and started helping the shop owner get everything ready for the general public.

Customers came and went, some buying a handful of different assortments of sweets while some only wanted ice cream (though Ivan didn't know why they'd want ice cream when it's sub-zero outside). Before long it was his lunch break, which he spent munching on the food Yekaterina prepared for him from the previous evening. He finished eating faster than usual, and used the rest of his free time to wander about around the area. In the afternoon, mostly after school ended, it grew even busier as the little shop was quite famous around town and well-received by the locals, especially and not surprisingly by the youngsters. Time passed in a blur, and, in what felt like a blink of an eye, it was evening and the sun was setting.

Snow crunched under his feet as he hopped off the bus, waving at the bus driver, and walked down the road leading to his home. It was a little windy, and snow began to fall again. He nuzzled his cheeks against his scarf, which flapped behind him. With hurrying steps, he entered the door to his apartment complex, and immediately felt warmed.

Boarding the elevator, he took off his fur hat and gently patted away melting, fluffy snow flakes. Reaching his floor, he felt a small, content smile tug his lips upward.

He was quite hungry, and couldn't wait to see what Yekaterina was cooking for dinner.

Unlocking and opening the door, he was greeted by warmth and the delicious smell of hot, yummy food. Before he could even signal his return with a "good evening", his stomach gave a loud, churning growl, and his sister poked her head out from the kitchen.

She laughed good-naturedly, and he felt a blush darken his cheeks, trying to hide behind his scarf.

"_Dinner is almost ready._" She said, and, quite literally moments later, started to bring out dishes and began setting them out on the table.

He took off his outer coat, and went to help after washing his hands.

As soon as they were both seated, he dug into his food, stuffing it into his mouth before humming appreciatively and clapping happily.

"_You're the best cook in the world, Katyusha!_" He exclaimed, bright, violet eyes sparkling and beaming with affection.

It was Yekaterina's turn to blush. Muttering a "_You're exaggerating…_", she hid a small smile, and gave Ivan a small nudge to eat his vegetables.

The evening had gone on normally and peacefully, but took a strange turn after the siblings finished their dinner.

Ivan was washing the dishes when someone knocked on the door.

He couldn't quite see it from his position, but he heard his sister walking over.

Wondering who it was, he called out:

"_Were you expecting company today?_"

"_No…I don't remember anyone saying they were going to visit…_" Yekaterina answered, sounding confused, looking into the peephole.

There was a long pause, and Ivan, growing more curious by the second, wiped his hands dry with a towel and walked out of the kitchen.

"…_Yekaterina…?_" He blinked, concern rising alongside his curiosity as he noticed how tense his sister's expressions were.

"_They…look a little…scary…_" She whispered, still staring into the peephole.

A little alarmed by the shivering tone in her hushed voice, he approached the door as well.

"_Let me have a look, yes?_" He gently nudged Yekaterina on the arm.

The young woman paused a little, but nodded, glancing at him with nervousness bright in her eyes.

"_Don't worry. If anything happens, I will protect you._" Giving her a reassuring smile, he spoke softly, and bent over slightly in the midsection to peer into the peephole.

Three men stood outside their door, dressed in long, black winter coats over black suits. The one in the middle, more aged than the others, wore a hat that looked to be more of an accessory than actual protection from Russian winters, while the other two by his sides wore sunglasses despite of it being night time.

Ivan's usually childlike expression fell away as he watched them intently and carefully, eyes glinting and unblinking.

"…_Katyusha, go to your room and lock your door…_" His voice was barely above a breath.

"…_Wh-What? Why? What's wrong?_" Yekaterina questioned, whisper quiet but full of tension; Ivan didn't need to look to know that fearful tears now swam in her round, blue eyes.

"_Please, do as I say, sister._"

"_B-But—_"

"_I will be fine, yes~?_" He tilted his head slightly and gave her a small smile, though, having his face in the shadow and eyes shining rather oddly brightly, he looked quite terrifying with his looming form. The shorter but older young woman was not afraid of him of course; however, she couldn't help but feel afraid for the men outside, especially with how intimidating her brother's expression was.

"…_O-Okay…Be careful…_" She said, standing on her toes briefly to give Ivan a small peck on the cheek. With fleeting, worried glances still tearful, she caught his eyes a few times, and disappeared from his view as the door to her room closed and locked.

For moments, only silence accompanied Ivan as he went back to watching the men outside, feeling a little apprehensive about how none of them moved at all, as if knowing he was peering out at them.

"…_Who is it?_" He finally called out, voice clear and distinct, all the while staring through the peephole.

"Mister Ivan Braginski, we come to you with a request for your services."

Violet eyes blinked in surprise; he did not anticipate hearing English, let along _this_ particular accent.

It sounded similar to Arthur's, though it wasn't entirely the same.

How did they know about him…?

The man in the middle was the one that spoke, though his thin lips barely moved.

"Who are you?" Ivan asked in English, becoming more suspicious.

"I will not answer to a door; please open it and we will talk."

Ivan hesitated.

"We know of your ability," And that made the Russian extremely uneasy; "And only wish to ask for your help. We hold no hostility, and will never appear to you again if you do not want us to."

Silence lingered over them as Ivan pressed his lips together, conflicting thoughts bickering inside his mind.

After careful contemplation, the tall man finally sighed, and stepped back, but not without eyeing the nearby coat cupboard, where his water pipe was. Turning the lock knob but keeping the door chain secured, he slowly swung it open, only wide enough to allow half of his face to be shown.

The men outside simultaneously turned and gazed back at him, though he could not see the eyes of the ones wearing dark, shaded specs.

"Who do you work for?" Ivan asked, blinking his wide eyes with feigned innocent curiosity, childlike voice echoing slightly in the hallway.

"I did not say we worked for anyone, sir." The one in the middle answered.

"I know, but I can't possibly believe that the boss would come himself, especially all the way to Russia during its bitter winter." A wide grin of pretend-friendliness appeared on the tall Russian's face; with a small quirk of the head, he tilted it sideways in a coy manner. "That would be very silly of me, da~~?" All the warm emotions exhibited did not reach the glimmering violet eyes.

The two men with sunglasses looked uncomfortable; one of them, who held a large suitcase, shifted on his feet.

"Settle down!" A harsh whisper from the man in the middle stopped their fidgeting at once. Turning back to address Ivan, he gave a small nod and put on a polite face; "We come in the name of Her Majesty the Queen of the United Kingdom, and all of those within the Commonwealth." He looked quite proud for speaking in such hushed voices; "Would you kindly allow me to elaborate more on the inside of your door instead of out here in this chilly hall? Or is the comfort of your home not part of Russian hospitality to foreigners." There was a biting, edged tone laced with sarcasm, and Ivan was suddenly reminded of a certain Brit he befriended.

Feeling rather sheepish, a small pout formed on the Russian man's face; grumbling out an apology, he closed the door just to release the chain latch, and quickly opened it to let his guests in.

The men walked in hastily; it was clear that they were cold standing outside, not used to the weather. They didn't exhibit any specific emotional reaction as they took in the small, homey place, sparing no lingering looks on the half-washed dishes, or the scattered pieces of a large sunflower picture puzzle on the coffee table in front of the couches, which Ivan had recently started to put together.

"Please, have a seat, da~?" Motioning to the general direction of the living room, the tall blonde stood stiffly, not quite knowing how to act around agents sent by "Her Majesty the Queen". "Do you…want something to drink?"

"We do not _drink_ on the job, Mr. Braginski." The man who was standing in the middle while outside the door now sat in one of the single sofa seats, while the other two wearing sunglasses sat on the longer one.

It took Ivan a few seconds to understand the emphasis on the word "drink". When he did, he laughed, not knowing whether to feel humoured or offended.

"Vodka isn't the only thing Russians drink, da?" He said; "I can make you tea if you want."

The three men exchanged glances.

"…It will warm you up…?" Ivan suggested.

The three shared more looks before the one who was probably the leader of the group, the one not wearing sunglasses, nodded.

"That would be lovely; thank you."

"You're welcome~" A little while later, Ivan reappeared from the kitchen with a tray of cups and a small tea pot.

There was an awkward silence as the men sipped their tea. After a few quiet moments, the leader spoke up, setting his cup down onto the small coffee table.

"Mr. Braginski, I apologize for arriving unannounced, but I must insist that you hear everything I have to say before making your decision on whether or not to take our request."

Ivan nodded, frowning a little; "…What does England's queen want with someone like me, Mr.…?"

"You may address me as Mr. Harris; I am responsible for the case I am about to introduce to you." Came the quick answer; "And the request was not personally made by the royal family, of course, only by title. We are agents from a separate branch of national defense, dealing with…_things_ that you will find to be familiar with."

Ivan did not speak at first, eyes narrowing in suspicion and lips unconsciously pursing into a pout. "…Does Mother Russia know you are here?"

"Yes," Mr. Harris wore no particular expression; "We are being observed as we speak. It is expected of course, since we arrived as common tourists. After we leave, you shouldn't be surprised to find someone from your government knocking on your door, or perhaps a shadow tailing after you for the next few days."

"What do I tell them if they question me?"

"The truth," The man simply said; "The only reason I decided not to contact your government is to avoid the tedious procedures of arriving as personnel of a department that does not exist."

"…I can't really say you came here to ask me to investigate superstitions, da?" Ivan looked unconvinced, lips still pursed together.

"You'd be surprised at what they'd believe, especially from an _interesting_ individual such as yourself," Mr. Harris replied in a dry tone; "Every nation has a department that doesn't exist, Mr. Braginski, but I digress." Without further delay, he took out an envelope from an inside pocket of his winter coat. Opening it and taking out a thin stack of papers, he continued in a professional manner:

"There have been an abnormally large number of reported disappearances in a small, remote village. At first only the police was contacted, and investigation followed, but after a while, when the ones who disappeared started reappearing, it became apparent that something outside of their jurisdiction is at work." A few photos clipped to some of the papers in the little stack were pulled out and spread out on the coffee table. Ivan leaned forward, trying to look, though it was a little hard since he was a little far from them.

"Please, feel free to have a closer inspection." Mr. Harris gave a small wave, and the Russian nodded, picking up the photos, round eyes sparkling with curiosity.

He took one look at the first photo, and immediately grimaced.

The body was hardly recognizable as being once human, and was mutilated to nothing but a pile of blood and gore. The chest and stomach cavity of the…_person_ was completely pried open and exposed, organs splattered out around as if thrown out carelessly.

If that were all, anyone would've guessed that this was the work of a serial killer of some sort reminiscent of Jack the Ripper.

However, it was obviously not, as on all of the torn out body parts were burnt marks – complicated symbols and lines making up small sigils of unknown meanings.

The rest of the pictures were similar, and Ivan threw them down, glancing at them cautiously, rubbing his hands together as if trying to disinfect them.

This was unlike anything he had ever seen, and he'd seen some pretty messed up things since his first encounter with the supernatural when his parents were murdered.

"I…I'm not too…well-learned in this type of things, so I think you should ask someone else, da…?" He looked back at Mr. Harris, slightly apologetic.

The man held up a hand; "Please, allow me to finish first before deciding." Seeing Ivan's attentive gaze, he went on:

"Within relative proximity of the village, there is an abandoned castle. It was previously in the possession of an aristocrat who liked to keep to himself, who was engrossed in his research, though his studies remain unknown to this day. He died many decades ago of course; it isn't clear who the land now belongs to, hence why it has been left unattended.

"So, naturally, much local folklore spawned, suggesting that the place is haunted despite of there being no legitimate cases supporting such suggestion. That is, until now. None of the officers had gone to the castle to find information as the few who ventured close all ended up dead. But, from what little clues the police and detective team managed to find around the area, my colleagues and I have concluded that it is not your everyday apparitions that dwell there.

"Normally we would not seek help from those outside of our department, not even within our own country, but this situation is far too dangerous to send in agents, many of which are only humans educated in the supernatural with appropriate equipments, meaning they are extremely vulnerable to paranormal attacks. We learnt that the hard way – all of those we sent in have not returned. However," The man's gaze grew in intensity, and he suddenly smiled, though it was not friendly or kind, "…The same cannot be said about _you_, Mr. Braginski; you are, quite literally, one of a kind."

Ivan held the gaze. It made him uncomfortable, as if being examined like a lab animal, but he didn't like the idea of backing down, so he met it evenly with a hard look of his own.

Though the effect of his gaze was lessened to some extent by the small, thoughtful pout that never left his expressions; he was never aware of it ever being there.

"So…you want me to go into the castle and try to find your missing agents and clues?" He asked.

"More or less, yes," Thankfully, Mr. Harris' expression returned to that of polite professionalism as he gave a curt nod; "You will not be asked to do any more than that if you do not feel comfortable doing so."

"But how will I know what to look for? And how to look for them? I'm not very familiar with the Occult, da…"

"You will be accompanied, of course, by others who are more involved and well-learnt in such things."

_Ahhh…_so he was to act as, more or less, a shield for protection, though he was not sure what the presence of "others" meant…

Ivan glanced at the pictures again, looking rather reluctant, but spoke up anyways:

"What's in it for me?"

"I'm glad you asked," The middle-aged man gave a tiny quirk of a smile and waved a hand towards one of the men in sunglasses. Without delay, the one holding the black suitcase lifted the rather heavy-looking object, placing it on top of his thighs, and opened the latches holding it closed.

The cover of the suitcase fell open, and Ivan couldn't help but feel his eyes widen in surprise.

Inside it were stacks and stacks of cash in neat piles, its sum possibly reaching above hundreds of thousands.

Catching his look of amazement, Mr. Harris' smile grew; "You will be paid handsomely, and this is only half of the payment. Should you complete the mission, another half will be given to you."

Ivan remained silent, eyeing the money rather apprehensively.

He took another moment to get over his mild shock before turning away. He hummed a small sigh, and shook his head.

"You are very generous, but…while my sister and I are not wealthy, we are happy with what we have, da? I cannot leave her here by herself; I will not."

"She is more than welcomed to come with you."

"It will be dangerous, no?"

"You will be with her, and, if you insist to not have her accompany you into the castle, she can always stay at somewhere close, but definitely safe." Mr. Harris definitely expected Ivan's concerns and had already prepared answers.

"…But…" The Russian was running out of excuses, "…What about our jobs?"

"I can assure you that after your participation in the case, you won't have to worry about money for a very long time." The man answered with absolute certainty; "After all, we have to pay enough to make sure you won't talk about any details regarding the case after you finish."

"That's not the problem…" Ivan was hesitant, voice in a soft murmur.

"Ahh, I understand now; this must be overwhelming to you, Mr. Braginski," Mr. Harris suddenly stood up; "I understand completely, and will leave you a few days to make up your mind."

"Well actually I—"

"I will leave the suitcase with you as a greeting present—"

"-I—No! You really don't—" Ivan shook his head quickly, getting up from his seat, but the older man interrupted as though he hadn't spoken at all, walking towards the door.

"-And thank you for your time. We will be taking our leave now, and return in at most a week."

The suitcase was closed and carefully put down onto the coffee table. The men in sunglasses stood up, following after their leader in brisk steps.

"Нет! I can't take—" The Russian, with large strides, tried to block the men's way to the door, feeling rather annoyed with how they insisted to leave the money to him.

He knew it was hardly a "present" as Mr. Harris pretentiously claimed it to be.

It was more of a threat than anything, or, at the very least, an eyesore to the tall blonde.

The middle-aged man pushed him aside with a strength he did not expect, and took a hold of the door knob. Ivan felt a rush of indignation rise inside him. With a dark growl of displeasure, he reached out without a second thought and grabbed the older man's arm in a tight clench.

Not a split of a second after, he felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

For moments, they all remained still.

Mr. Harris' hand was still on the door knob, Ivan's larger one around his arm. The man in sunglasses holding a gun to the Russian's head was completely motionless, posture tense, while his partner paused in reaching into the inside of his coat, looking ready to pull out his own pistol at any second.

"…Now, gentlemen, there is no need for hostility." Mr. Harris sounded strangely irritated with his subordinates, shooting them each a glare.

The one holding his gun out pursed his lips, clearly displeased about his leader's decision, but slowly withdrew it, though not without giving a last warning nudge.

Ivan did not move, lips pressed tightly together and jaws set. He wore a harsh expression unfitting his rather childish features, a dark shadow overcastting his face. Violet eyes shined madly under the dim light, staring at the man who threatened fatal harm.

He felt his fingers tingle, itching for the pipe they loved to clutch.

The one who had the nerve to press a gun at his temple actually took a small step back, looking horribly flustered, and turned his face away.

Slowly, he released Mr. Harris from his tight hold.

He felt a small sense of respect for the old man, since he knew it probably hurt.

The said old man gave him a small nod in an appreciative manner, and turned the door knob.

"Good night, Mr. Braginski; we will see you soon."

With the men in sunglasses tailing after him like faithful shadows, Mr. Harris walked down the hall, giving a tiny wave.

Ivan watched, standing in the doorway, until the three turned the corner and disappeared.

~o0o0o~

"…_What do you suppose we do?_" Yekaterina's voice roused Ivan out of his thoughts.

The Russian man sighed, rubbing his face with his hands and trying to ease the ongoing conflicts inside his mind, which never stopped weighing pros and cons of the situation. He really hated the fact that Mr. Harris simply left the suitcase full of cash behind without a second thought. It made him feel bad about refusing the request, especially since everything was well thought of, such as how he was allowed to bring his sister along, and keep her close but safe…

…and the money wouldn't hurt either, since he could use it to purchase a small but permanent home, not only in Russia, but probably in New York as well, so he could take Yekaterina with him to America and see Yao and his friends.

And all he had to do was to help find clues around an abandoned, old castle.

It was perfect really, but he couldn't shake off a feeling of unease.

"_Let's—…Let's think about this…tomorrow…please…?_" He murmured, suddenly feeling rather tired and sleepy, voice small and childish in timber. Despite of the fact that he often took care of his older sister instead of the other way around, being in the same room with the rather motherly young woman made him feel whiney at times.

"_Oh Vanya…_" Yekaterina cooed, rising from her spot and approaching the now pouting tall man. Gently tilting his face upwards, she gave his forehead a kiss; "_We'll figure things out like we always do, yes? Don't worry yourself._"

"_Okay…_" Ivan gave a small nod, looking up with a sheepishly troubled expression, round eyes meeting his sibling's. "_But whatever happens, I will never leave you again, sister._"

The young woman blinked, and, for several moments, could not speak. Tears began to surface, and made her already sparkling blue eyes appear as though shimmering crystals in the dark.

Giving Ivan a teary smile, she nodded, and held onto his hands.

"…_Come; I'll tuck you in to bed._"

The two walked slowly towards the direction of the bedrooms, fingers wrapped snuggly around each other's.

It was warm, and nice, though they couldn't help but feel a loss throbbing in their hearts – a hole that dug too deep to be healed overtime.

It remained unspoken, even as they caught each other's eyes in understanding.

Natalia was never coming back, and they would simply have to live on without her.

~o0o0o0o0o~

"…Wh—…What did you just say?" Matthew broke the shocked silence in the hallway, gasping in dismay and eyes wide.

Kiku nodded, posture tense and expression dark; "He was found outside of the main gates by the gardening staff. A periodic grooming was scheduled today for the gardens, and they begin early in the morning." He motioned to the small crowd of employees, and, amongst them, a few men and women dressed in proper gardening wear could be seen, all looking extremely pale and shaken. "They came to the side house to report to me as soon as they could."

The heavy silence that settled over the group prior to Matthew's question resumed.

The same person who broke it spoke up once again:

"…What does—What does this mean, eh…?" The Canadian gave a weak, shaky laugh; "That he's—…he's found outside, I mean…

"…The spirit, he's-he's confined to the mansion grounds, isn't he? How could he have—"

"-We should go check things out as soon as possible, aru," Yao cut in, nodding at Kiku and his team mates; when his eyes met Matthew's, the same question and worry could be seen shinning in the dark orbs. "Get dressed; we will head to the mansion right away."

"I understand the urgency, _mon ami_, but shouldn't we contact the police? A man has been _murdered_." Francis' voice was even and smooth, but the frown he wore told that what he felt was far from what his tone suggested. "While our intuition points to our warlord spirit, the possibility of someone else committing the crime still exists, _non_?"

"That's right, aru," Yao nodded, "But we won't be able to investigate once the police gets here. We will have to hurry." The Chinese man sighed, shoulders sagging a little and looking slightly worn-out; "…What do we do, aru? We can't attempt an exorcism with the police here, and they will no doubt leave officers to stay the grounds on watch out for anyone suspicious. And once the sun sets—…there will definitely be bloodshed…"

Matthew glanced back and forth between Yao, Kiku, and Francis, who still stood behind him with an arm wrapped loosely around his waist.

Just as they figured out a way to solve the problem at hand, _this_ happens…

It seemed that luck was not on their side.

"Let us concentrate on what we should do for now instead of worrying about the future," Kiku straightened his back and spoke, voice rather flat and emotionless; "Leave the problems regarding the police force to me. As much as I hate to do this, I am certain I can find a solution by pulling a few strings."

~o0o0o0o0o~

Sometimes Matthew wondered why he just _had_ to go see things he knew would upset him.

He could blame nothing but his curiosity as he leaned closer into Francis' arms, face pressed against the taller man's chest, and tried his best to stop his pathetic shivering.

One look at the body on the ground caused a train-wreck of memories to come forth in unending waves, which almost triggered a nervous breakdown, but, luckily, his lover was quick to notice the sudden change in his behaviour and immediately shielded his eyes by pulling him into a tight hug.

He sighed, hating how much the sight frightened him, despite of it being nothing worse than what he'd seen before, especially compared to how poor Natalia was…

Francis, sensing his sigh, patted his head gently in a soothing manner, tilting his face down to give him a kiss on the cheek.

He felt much better, though he was still shaken, but that was expected since the image of the severed body was burnt into his mind with too much clarity for his liking.

In truth, despite it being bloody, the manner in which the man was killed was quite precise and clean, meaning the body was not mutilated or torn. Limbs were cut off with a single slice, as was the head, which was a little further away from the rest of the body parts, no doubt having bounced and rolled away after it was chopped off. Blood soaked quite an impressively large area, and that was what mainly upset the Canadian the most.

The man was dressed in all black, and had a lean frame. He wore a woolen hat on his head that probably could've been worn as a mask, though no one touched the body to check if that was the case. A few steps away there was a large, black bag with its contents unknown; no one touched that either, since the police definitely would not appreciate nosy bystanders.

Due to the way he was killed, the man's facial features could be seen quite clearly, bloodied or not. Kiku, standing beside a crouched down Yao, hummed a little under his breath in a thoughtful manner:

"…I don't recognize him, neither do the gardeners nor the household staff," Speaking of the employees, a few had come by Kiku's request to check if they knew the man, since they were from nearby towns; they were now huddled together several steps away, glancing over at the scene fearfully. "I think it is safe to make the assumption that the victim was not from around here."

"Probably not, aru," Yao sighed, inspecting the numerous fatal wounds, "With clothes like these, I'd think he was trying to break into the mansion and steal things."

"_Hai…_" Kiku had the same suspicion, and couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the thief.

After a while of silence, the Japanese man asked:

"What can you see?"

"It is obvious that each strike was aimed to kill, aru," Yao tucked a few fallen strands of long, dark hair behind his ears as he leaned down further to check the exposed wounds, eyebrows furrowed; "One strike per limb…possibly in quick succession of each other judging from the way the body parts are scattered."

"What do you mean?"

"Say, if this man was cut up after he'd fallen and died, they wouldn't be where they are unless the different body parts were moved, aru." The Chinese man answered, pointing at the torso, arms, and legs; "However, if it were in fact the killer's intentions to move the body parts, wouldn't they usually scatter them far away from each other? Usually they wouldn't kill the man, cut off his limps and head, and then just nudge them around, aru…"

"I see…" Kiku murmured; "Speaking of the way they fell…it looks as if—…as if—"

"-The victim was running as he was cut into pieces?" Yao finished Kiku's statement, nodding with a grim expression; "That is what I believe as well, aru…It's definitely someone extremely skillful and experienced with blades that did this." Sighing, he caught Kiku's eyes; "I think we all have the same suspicion, but it's always best to confirm first…" Getting up, he turned to address Francis, who still held Matthew in his arms.

"Francis, aru…if you are feeling alright, can you…_see_ what happened?"

The Frenchman gave a small nod; "_Certainement._ I am feeling a lot better."

"…Are you-Are you sure?" At that, Matthew shifted a little in his position and looked up, worry swimming in his watery blue eyes; "I mean…what happened the last time…back at the well…"

"I will be careful, _mon chéri_," The taller man smiled appreciatively; "I must admit, I am recuperating far faster than what I initially expected," Placing his gloved hands on his little Matthieu's shoulders, he leaned down a little and pressed their foreheads together, voice warm and reassuring; "This is different than the well, and I won't take long."

"…Okay…" The Canadian still didn't look like he fancied the idea, though he chose not to be a hindrance and merely watched as Francis gave him a smile, followed by a small peck, before walking towards Yao, Kiku, and the body.

Matthew tried not to look at the gaping wounds or the semi-wet blood stains, and concentrated on the Frenchman's movements instead.

"Just one concern, eh?" He murmured, walking a few steps closer to the rest of the group, but keeping a safe distance from the body; "If Francis were to touch him, wouldn't that leave finger prints? I mean, having your finger prints found on someone who's been murdered is never a good thing…"

"Don't worry, Matthew-san; I will explain to the police inspector." Kiku said, nodding in acknowledgement.

Though he wasn't sure how exactly the Japanese man was going to explain to the police (he was pretty certain that the excuse "psychic investigation" wouldn't work well with most people involved in enforcing the law), the Canadian chose not to question as Francis knelt down beside the body.

The Frenchman seemed to hesitate for a moment as to which of the parts to touch (he didn't look like he wanted to have contact with _any_ actually), but quickly decided that an arm would suffice. Holding back a grimace at the blood and gaping flesh, he carefully took out a ribbon from his pocket, and tied back his shimmering golden hair, before taking off one of his gloves and reaching forward.

The sheer absurdity and strangeness of what he was about to do made the hair on the back of his neck rise, but, like a true professional, he was careful to not let that uneasiness show on his face.

Fingers curling, he grasped onto the dead man's hand connecting to a severed arm, and was instantly thrown into a swirl of memories.

Not wanting to dwell on much and skipping many events, he shuffled through much like how most would flip through a book to the desired chapter, and only paused for a closer look as a familiar mansion came into view.

"…He had been watching the mansion for some time, it seems…" He murmured, eyes shut and brows furrowed in concentration.

"What do you mean?" Matthew asked, scooting a few little steps closer to hear better.

"He was…a thief of some sort," Francis answered, skimming over what wasn't useful to their investigation; "He must've thought that a mansion this size would definitely contain things of great worth." Through the quickly flashing moving images and sounds, he could physically feel the leaves tickling his arms and legs as he saw familiar figures a distance away, standing at the entrance to the garden gates. He heard a loud protest from one of them, and almost chuckled as he clearly remembered the same event happening – a long haired, slender Asian man hollering out spluttered words of shock and embarrassment at an amused, taller blonde after a friendly butt-smack.

Quickly chiding himself for getting distracted and resuming back on track, he found what he was looking for.

"…After hiding close-by at times and watching for days, he snuck into the mansion last night by climbing over the wall."

"Oh no!" A small exclaim could be heard from his little Matthieu.

Oh no indeed…The Frenchman gave a small sigh; had the man not seen what happened when all of them went into the mansion at night that one time?

Scanning through just out of curiosity, he found that the man was unfortunately somewhere else during that little episode. It probably would've saved the man's life had he seen it, but it's too late now…

He reverted back to the night of the robber's demise.

The man was sneaking around the garden, listening keenly for sounds.

All was silent, deadly silent.

The man was pleased, though Francis felt a chill shiver down his spine.

The thief crept along the side of the mansion, hopping quietly into the hallway after sliding open a door. His footsteps were light, and left no disturbances. It was obvious that this man was an expert at what he did.

Rounding a corner, he peeked into the first room, and smiled as he spotted a beautiful ceramic vase. Stepping into the room and opening his bag, he barely even fully crossed the threshold when a shadow swept down and descended upon him.

Francis nearly jumped out of his skin when the spirit, true to warrior fashion, suddenly came out of nowhere and took out his katana in one, abrupt movement.

"-He ran…

"He ran, abandoning all thoughts of keeping silence and raced towards the garden gates, the spirit barely steps behind him," Francis' voice remained low in volume, but was tight-strung with tension as he felt every bit of heart-pounding fear the poor victim was experiencing; "There were attacks; the spirit never stopped. The blade flashed in the dark, and he almost could not avoid its strike on numerous occasions. Tumbling down the stairs, he cried out in fear as the deadly metal caught his sleeve…

"…He reached the gates…

"…He could almost—

"-He could almost touch them with his hands now—!

"…

"…

"…_He stumbled out through the gates_…"

Silence followed his statement – a silence of disbelief and shock.

Yao shared a flicker of a dreadful glance with Kiku. "…Are-Are you sure, aru? If he left the gates then—"

Francis wasn't listening.

His eyebrows were in a deep frown of concentration as a tremour overtook his body. Cold sweat made his skin gleam under the morning light, and his voice wavered.

He was completely engulfed in the memories of the dead man.

"-He managed to get back onto his feet—"

Francis' whisper was harsh and hissed.

"He pushed himself upright—"

His voice shook, gaining an anxious edge.

"He turned to look—"

_-A flash of glinting metal—_

"**-AAAAAGHH!**"

The sound of air being split open by the sword had not even reached his ears when sheer agony erupted everywhere in his body, mostly concentrated around the joints of his shoulders and hips. Crying out in pain, he tore his hand away from the dead man's. The last sensation he felt was the cold, biting edge of the blade striking down and slicing into the flesh and bone of his neck.

He screamed, terror and panic shooting through his body in violent spasms as his hands flew up to grab around his neck, where he could still feel the fatal attack from the deadly weapon.

It pierced through. He could almost see it, his body in pieces and chunks falling around him. He could almost taste it, the bitterness of fresh blood overflowing into his mouth.

…And it took him many frantic moments to snap out of it and realize that his limbs and head were still in fact connected to his body.

It took him another second to notice that his little Matthieu had knelt down right beside him during his frenzied stupor and pulled him into a half-embrace, watching him with wide, frightful eyes.

Taking deep, shaky breaths, Francis closed his own, and leaned closer into the hug, arms wrapping tightly around the Canadian's slender waist as his bare hand grasped around his gloved one to prevent accidental offenses of privacy.

"_Oh Matthieu…Oh mon petit…_I was so certain I was being slaughtered…" Sighing shakily, he buried his face into the curve of where the smaller man's neck met slim shoulders; "…Sometimes it only takes a moment for me to become caught up in the current…_Mon Dieu…_" Tilting his head slightly, he gave Matthew's cheek a firm kiss; "Forgive me; I should've been more careful to not startle you…"

"Don't say that," The Canadian spoke in a soft, comforting voice, though worry was also apparent; "It's okay, just—…You're safe…You're safe…with me." He gave Francis gentle pats on the head much like what the older male did for him when he was upset or scared.

After a while, the Frenchman gave a deep sigh, finally calming down. He stayed in the younger man's arms as long as he could, before duty made him lean back reluctantly.

"_Merci,_ _mon ange_." He said, a small but warm smile on his lips.

The strawberry blonde shook his head slightly; "No need to thank me, Francis. But—…Are you—…Are you alright…?" His voice was soft, and it gave a tiny quaver, almost unnoticeable; he might've looked embarrassed from it, but concern was too strong for any other emotion to show on his face.

Francis blinked, taking the expression in. He paused, before he answered; "…_Oui, mon coeur_."

They shared a long look, blue gazing into blue.

"I'm glad." Matthew said, placing a hand around Francis' cheek, and the Frenchman pulled him into a kiss.

There was nothing sexual about it, but it was intimate, and full of affection.

Lips moved slowly, perfectly in sync with each other.

Francis slid out his tongue, giving the Canadian's a gentle flick, and the younger man moaned.

"…Aru…" Yao's voice made the two jump back, though one was a lot more flustered than the other.

Matthew cleared his throat and, hiding his blush by guiding his lover back onto his feet, went straight to business; "R-Right! So…Um…Not to rush or anything, Francis, but…what happened exactly? You kind of…stopped after you said the man turned…?"

"_Ahhh…Oui…_" The Frenchman, sliding his bare hand back into his glove, gave him another smile of love and thanks before continuing, expression darkening a little; "I'm afraid that what I'm about to say will upset you…" With a sigh, he continued in an even tone of voice; "The man turned, and the last thing he saw while running away was flashes of a blade before his limbs were severed almost simultaneously, as was his head. His death was immediate and painful, but that isn't what is most alarming."

"I…remember you said—" Yao began carefully, but trailed off as the long-haired blonde gave him a brisk nod.

"When he was killed, he was already paces outside of the gates," The look in Francis' eyes hardened, and a small, dismayed gasp followed from Matthew; "The spirit is no longer confined to the mansion grounds anymore, it seems…"

Yao heaved a deep sigh, rubbing his face, troubled; "…I was afraid this would happen, aru…"

"…Wait…Wh-…What do you mean?" Matthew asked, eyes searching the Chinese man's for answers, urgency clear in his words; "How's that possible? The enchantment—I thought it was—"

"-I thought it was going to hold, aru," Yao's eyes did not meet his, but was downcast to the ground in a thoughtful manner; he nibbled on his lips as the dark orbs flickered back and forth in front of him; "While this occurrence is not—…_entirely_ unexpected, I was _certain_ we had more time…I honestly didn't think it was necessary to worry you since I was extremely sure that an enchantment this strong was going to give us plentiful of time, but apparently that's…that's not the case, aru…"

"So you—you _knew_?" Matthew voiced out all the other team members' question of surprise.

Yao looked a little sheepish, and rubbed the back of his head awkwardly; "Well…Yes, aru…I knew that the spell had been…damaged somewhat, around the time after we found out that the warrior spirit became active again from being docile in the well, but because he was still confined to the mansion I thought—…" The Chinese man paused, biting his lips and making small gestures with his hands as if not knowing how to properly explain; "…It's-It's complicated, aru, how rituals work. There are many mechanisms in place to ensure safety in case _something_ happens – _something_ like the stone turtle lid being taken off and releasing the spirit. So I thought, despite of having a weak spot, the spell was going to hold, but I guess…I guess it's crumbling faster than I expected…"

There was a dreadful silence as the revelation slowly sunk in. Yao, looking around at the ashen faces of his team mates, felt bad for keeping this information from them.

"...I'm really sorry, aru…I shouldn't have kept this from you…I sometimes forget that you really can't be too careful with these things…" Head hanging low, he fiddled with his long sleeves, heart heavy with guilt.

"We never blamed you, _mon ami_," Francis spoke with a small flair of a wrist, voice smooth and comforting.

"Francis-san is right; what we need to do is find out what our new course of action is," Kiku nodded, and spoke in a rather professional manner, but his lips held a kind smile.

"Thanks, aru…" Yao tilted his head up and gave grateful smiles in return.

"Is there anything else you would like to investigate?" The Japanese man asked, looking around at the remaining members of the agency.

"No, I think we're done here, aru." Catching nods, Yao answered for the team.

"I will give the police department a phone call then." Kiku gave a small bow and excused himself, walking a little further away and taking out his phone.

"So…What are we going to do, eh?" Matthew asked, voice barely above a whisper.

No one replied right away.

Yao gave him fleeting glances as if hesitant in speaking, sharing knowing looks with Francis.

"…What is it?" The Canadian inquired, confused, head quirking to the side and sparkling blue eyes curious.

"Well, I have a solution, but…" The Chinese man turned to fully face him and tucked a few strands of fallen hair back behind his ear nervously, "…I know you won't like it, aru…"

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

**Translations:**

_Certainement_ – Certainly; of course

_Merci,_ _mon ange_ – Thank you, my angel

_Oui, mon coeur_ – Yes, my heart

**Ending Notes:** Ok, so, the reason this update came so late...

Well, it's just that, after getting back from my grandparents', I got really sick, and the worst part is, no one could figure out what was wrong with me! ;_; I just felt so tired and weak all the time. I pretty much stayed in bed for the rest of my precious summer and did nothing but sleep...

I feel like I've been robbed of my vacation time. T-T

Oh well, enough moping. I feel much better now, and…if you guys _really_ want to throw things at me go ahead, but please don't throw anything hard! –grovels–

Regarding the next update, I have no idea when it's gonna happen. Stupid school started, and I still don't have my own computer. However, good news is, my aunt said she plans to get me a new laptop by the end of September! I'm looking forward to that so much! I'm really kinda gettin' sick of writing in that notebook.

Anyways, yeah, Ivan returned! :D Man I miss writing him, but yeah, uhh, surprise? I bet none of you expected those agents from Her Majesty the Queen! AAAAAHAHAHA! –shot–

To be honest I don't really have anything else to say, except that I'm really, _really_ sorry about how late this new chapter is. I feel horrible, but I was too out of it to write anything while I was half-dead lying in bed. I doubt you guys would wanna read anything I write during that time anyways. XD

I'm still not entirely satisfied with how this chapter turned out, but I thought that I made you guys wait long enough, so I decided to post it. –loves all of you–

And also, another thing to everyone: Seriously, **thank you,** _**thank you**_** so, **_**so**_** much for all the reviews, favourites, subscriptions, and just…being overall so epically awesome and sweet to me!** –teary eyes– I feel very ashamed that I haven't been answering to any of your reviews, but I promise, as soon as I get my own computer again, I'll start answering them again!

Ok I gotta run, but before I do that, big tackle-hugs and smothering kisses for everyone along with sparkly rainbows of love! –squishes everybody–

Remember, I love you always! :D


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